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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909620">A second perspective</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TapDancin_idiot/pseuds/TapDancin_idiot'>TapDancin_idiot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How the King of Brooklyn found his prince. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Based on Newsies!: the Musical, Brotherly Love, Crushes, Crying, Cussing, Dark Past, Drunken Confessions, During Canon, Emotional Hurt, First Fanfiction, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Newsies, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Medda's Theater (Newsies), Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), POV Third Person, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Spot Conlon is a gentleman, Spot and Hotshot are bestfriends, hopefully you like it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:21:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TapDancin_idiot/pseuds/TapDancin_idiot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows the classic tale of the Manhattan Newsboys launching a strike against Pulitzer and Hearst in 1899. But what if I told you there was a story - a deeper, more romantic story, hidden in the tale. What if I told you that two boys, both from separate districts of New York, fell in love with each other?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crutchie &amp; Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Racetrack Higgins &amp; Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon &amp; Hot Shot, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How the King of Brooklyn found his prince. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. There’s a life that’s worth the livin’ and I’m gonna do my share.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello all!</p><p>Two things before you start 'A Second Perspective.'</p><p>Firstly, I am the TapDancin_idiot. This is my first time posting fanfiction...so let's hope it's good. I am really excited about this story and I hope you like it as much as I like it.</p><p>Secondly, here's some context. This chapter takes place a month before the strike does. In my mind, Spot and Race have been friends since Spot became the leader of the Brooklyn Newsboys, so around when he was 13 - I have a whole story on his backstory I'll explain later. Now Spot is 16, and Race is also 16. </p><p>But besides that, I hope this is good... fingers crossed!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To say Spot Conlon was in love was understatement. He was head over heels. No one knew this about King of Brooklyn, and Spot never wanted anyone ever to know. You’re probably thinking he’s in love with some girlsie who is tough yet sweet on the edges. If you thought that, you’re wrong. Instead, Spot had a crush on someone he knew he could never be with. People would shame him if he did and call him a sin to the world. Yet, when Spot stared at him, Spot almost didn’t care. The way his hair moved and his smile so big, Spot felt his chest become warm with happiness. The feeling was uncommon, but when he got this lovey feeling, he never wanted it to go away.</p>
<p>If you haven’t caught on, Spot Conlon was secretly in love with a boy, a specific Manhattan boy: Racetrack Higgins. </p>
<p>Spot had developed feelings for Race about a three months ago. Race had taken him out for a day to sheepshead. Race had looked at him, that big adorable smile on his face, and for some reason Spot felt tense...in a good way. Ever since that day, every interaction Spot had with Race made Spot a little more infatuated with him. He was gorgeous to Spot, almost like sculpture made of clay; so unique and so perfect in every way.</p>
<p>Spot has never had a crush on anyone, so this feeling was new. He had discreetly asked Hotshot  about what this feeling was. Spot recalled it.</p>
<p>“I need to ask you something,” Spot had asked Hotshot one day after selling, “I’m asking for a friend.”</p>
<p>Hotshot had nodded and Spot continued.</p>
<p>“Well, this person I know wants to confirm if they have a crush – on a boy.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Hotshot said, “Who is it, might I ask?”</p>
<p>Spot swallowed hard, but kept his cool, “Harlem newsie, Patches.”</p>
<p>Hotshot nodded, “Alright, go on.”</p>
<p>“Well, P-Patches, is having these feelings for a guy, and she doesn’t know if it’s a crush or not. She feels as if every time she looks at him, her heart beat’s faster, her cheeks become red, and there’s this...warm feeling, like a hug, if that makes sense. She can imagine her life with him in her arms; and she has this happy feeling growing in her. This feeling only grows the more and more times they're together. She doesn’t know if it’s a crush, or it’s like...I-I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”</p>
<p>“I think it’s a crush,” Hotshot thought aloud, “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Spot started, “What should Patches do about this feeling? Should she act upon them or not?”</p>
<p>“It depends on how strong she feels these feelings,” Hotshot explained, “At least, that’s my view of it.”</p>
<p>“So, if she feels very strong feelings towards him, she should act upon it?” Spot asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I guess,” Hotshot said, “It also depends on how confident she is. But, hey, I think Patches is pretty confident, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Spot nodded in silence, and that’s when he knew he had a crush on his best friend. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now in present day, Spot was walking through the Brooklyn Bridge, halfway between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Spot looked down in his newsboy bag, making sure the present he had gotten for Race wasn’t crumpled. Spot readjusted it slightly and continued walking. </p>
<p>He was heading over to Manhattan because he wanted to see Race. He had sent a note to Race saying to meet him on 9th and 10th. Spot had gotten Race a present. Sure, it may sound a bit soft, but Spot thought that giving a present to him would... make Race like him. Spot didn’t even know Race was gay, and honestly, Spot somewhat believed he was being naïve, and that Race was clearly straight. </p>
<p>But, Spot, for once in his life, stayed optimistic. Maybe...he was into Spot like that? </p>
<p>Spot had slowed his walking pace down when he got into Manhattan. He hoped no one saw him, it would look very suspicious if Spot was found in Manhattan. It would make him a hypocrite. Spot had vowed years ago when he first became leader that he would never cross into Manhattan. But I guess Spot would do anything for love?</p>
<p>Spot waited in 9th and 10th’s alley way, looking around to see if Race was approaching. Spot leaned back against the brick wall of the alleyway, holding onto his bag with both of his hands. He looked around, noticing how tall the buildings where, and how clean the district was. For people to live here, they must be rich, Spot quipped. No street is ever this clean in Brooklyn. What was so attractive about Brooklyn to Race? Why did he like it so much? Sure, Spot loved Brooklyn, it’s where he was born and raised, but after a while, other places start to catch your eye. Brooklyn still had that touch, but Manhattan was clean. </p>
<p>Spot peeked his head around the wall when he heard footsteps. His eyes widened as he caught on that it was the, Racetrack Higgins. Spot smiled, turning back to face forward. He took a deep breath, calming his beating heart. Once his heart was at a normal heartbeat, Spot looked up when he saw Race walking past the alley way. He stopped, and was looking for Spot. Spot readjusted himself, leaning his body against the wall, crossing his arms and staring directly at Race.</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>Race had turned around, a panicked look in his eyes. Yet, that look went away when he saw Spot standing there, smug smile on his face. As much as Spot looked cool in that moment, he wanted to fluster.</p>
<p>“Oh hey!” Race greeted back, that soft, warm, and oh-so delicate smile blossoming onto his face. Spot could feel his heart thump louder, “Way to make an entrance.”</p>
<p>“I always do, don’t I?” Spot quipped, standing straight and moving towards Race, “How are you?”</p>
<p>“Great,” Race answered truthfully, “Selling was easy. You?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, today was fine,” Spot started, “Today was strangely warmer than the other.”</p>
<p>“Well yeah because it’s spring,” Race explained, “Spring is always unpredictable.”</p>
<p>Spot nodded. Race and Spot had locked eyes, and Spot had a small grin on his face. Spot only recognized that he was grinning after his cheeks started to hurt. </p>
<p>Spot cleared his throat, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”</p>
<p>Race nodded inquisitively, which signaled Spot to continue, “Well today as I was heading home, I was passing through some shops and I uh...” Spot shrugged, taking a step closer. He looked down to his bag, reaching his hand inside to grasp his present. Once Spot had grabbed it, he brought it to the surface, presenting it in front of Race, “...I-I got something for you.”</p>
<p>“Oh Spotty, you shouldn’t have,” Race whined, pushing the box in Spot’s hand back to Spot’s chest, “You shouldn’t have waisted your money on me.”</p>
<p>“Come on,” Spot defended, putting the box into Race’s hand, “I’m allowed to treat you. Also, they didn’t cost that much. I still had money to eat and pay rent.”</p>
<p>Race smiled sadly, looking to the box in his hand. </p>
<p>“Open it,” Spot said, a little too much excitement in his voice than he had planned. </p>
<p>Race obeyed, opening the top to reveal...</p>
<p>“Spotty~”</p>
<p>“There your favorites,” Spot explained, stepping closer, pointing at the label, “The guy gave me half off because I played my sympathy card.”</p>
<p>Race grabbed the thing in the box. Spot had bought him his favorite cigars: Corona's. Before Spot could further explain, Race lurched forward and hugged Spot. It was unexpected, but in a good way? Spot couldn’t describe the feeling, but only his heart beat faster, Spot could even hear it.</p>
<p>Race pulled away, holding Spot by the shoulders, “Thank you. I-I don’t know how I can pay you—”</p>
<p>“It’s a gift, Higgins,” Spot reassured, shrugging Race’s hand off, “Relax.”</p>
<p>See, if Spot and Race where together, that would’ve been the part where they would’ve kissed. Spot wished that this fantasy was true, but deep down he knew that it wasn’t, and never could be true. Spot wondered how Race’s lips tasted. He retorted, why the hell would I think that, Spot questioned himself. Yet, Spot’s mind wondered. Spot fantasied Race’s lips tasting like smoke, nice, gently smoke. The smoke wasn’t intoxicating, it would be...luscious. Enchanting.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Race asked, pulling Spot’s mind out of the gutter, “I-I can pay you back.”</p>
<p>“Please,” Spot scoffed, “Enjoy these, and don’t worry about paying me back or getting me anything. These just made me think of you, and it was just something nice.”</p>
<p>Spot smirked and moved to head towards the bridge. He looked to Race, admiring that smile, and the lips creating that smile. The lips that probably smelled of luscious smoke. Whoever would be the first person to kiss Race would get to know what his lips taste like. That probably wouldn’t be Spot, nor, would it ever be Spot. </p>
<p>Spot waved to Race, “See ya later, Race.” Then, he turned his back and left, his hands moving to be in his pocket. He walked with swagger and confidence. </p>
<p>“Hey Spot!” Race called out. Spot stopped, turning around to face Race.</p>
<p>Race chuckled, walking over to Spot, standing in front of him. His gaze was so gentle. </p>
<p>“I don’t get how people see you as being this ruthless guy,” Race explained, “You’re a softie, Conlon, and sheesh. I wish I had as big of a heart as you do.”</p>
<p>Spot smiled, lowering his head as he felt his cheeks flush.</p>
<p>“I try, you know?” Spot stated. He thought about it again, this would be the perfect moment to confess, this would be the perfect timing to press their lips together. If only Race liked him like that.</p>
<p>Race smiled, slipping the corona in his bag and handing the box back to Spot, “See you tomorrow, Spot.”</p>
<p>“You too,” Spot added. And with that, Race had left, leaving Spot alone, box in hand. His heart fluttered. </p>
<p>Goddammit, Spot Conlon was smitten.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Love at first sight’s for suckers, at least it used to be.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter takes place a couple days before carrying the banner. The trolley strike is still raging on which means...the headline still stinks.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dammit,” Race muttered as he nubed the end of the cigar. He was trying to trim down the cigar bud but ended up clipping himself instead. </p><p>Perfect, Race said to himself. </p><p>A little slit appeared on his finger tips and a little bubble of blood made an entrance on his skin. Race groaned and rubbed the liquid bubble of blood away, staining his skin. Race ignored the little cut on his finger and continued walking down the sidewalk to his destination. </p><p>You might be wondering where Race was walking too. Well, Race was heading to his favorite spot in all of New York: Brooklyn Bridge. Him and Spot meet every Tuesday, Friday and Sunday. It’s been a tradition between the two for a while now, but it specifically started when the two first became close friends. When Race was around Spot, or when Spot was around Race, they became themselves. Race and Spot would talk for hours, and they both leaned on each other. Race always considered Albert being the person who he would lean on, but honestly, Spot is that person. Even though Albert has been there since the beginning, and so has Jack, but Spot connects to him more – he’s more than a friend. Race would say that he was like family, but that would be a little weird; a family member liking another family member, that would be weird.</p><p>Race sighed, pushing his emotions past him: if only Spot was a girl, because of if he was a girl, that would make this situation better – he could go up to Spot and kiss him, and it wouldn’t be shamed upon by everyone. But Race thought about it, Race wouldn’t like that Spot was a girl.</p><p>Spot is perfect just the way he is. </p><p>Speaking of the devil, Race looked up and found himself at Brooklyn Bridge again. Yet again did Race’s daydreaming pass the time. </p><p>Race got onto the bridge and approached Spot. Spot’s head turned and Race smiled, not in a fake nice way, but it was almost instinctual. </p><p>“Hey,” Race said, his smile from ear to ear.</p><p>Spot smirked back, looking out forward to the water. Race went to his side, holding his cigar in his hand.</p><p>“How are you?” Race asked.</p><p>“Fine,” Spot answered, “You?”</p><p>“I’m pretty good,” Race said, “How was your day?”</p><p>“Busy, but alright,” Spot explained, “You’d think newsies like us wouldn’t be busy.”</p><p>Race chuckled, putting his cigar in his mouth.</p><p>“How was your day?” Spot asked, turning his head to face Race.</p><p>“Busy like yours,” Race said, a little lisp growing because of the cigar in his mouth, “Selling wasn’t too bad.” </p><p>“Yeah. Headline stinks though,” Spot said, leaning forward on the railing.</p><p>“Everyone’s sick of that stupid trolley strike,” Race explained, “I mean sure, it’s for a good cause, but people are getting hurt because of it. Like Davey... or whatever his name is.”</p><p>Spot titled his head, “Who?” </p><p>“Oh right!” Race said, moving to put his hand behind his neck, “We got a new kid.”</p><p>“Really?” Spot said, eyebrows furrowing, the smirk still there.</p><p>“Yes! I’m not lying!” Race said, shoving him lightly, “They were a pare. Two boys, one’s around me and Jackie’s age, the other is nine I think?”</p><p>Spot hummed, nodding, “Their names?”</p><p>“Davey and Les,” Race answered, “Dad busted up his leg bad so, they came here for work.”</p><p>“They have folks?” Spot asked, folding his arms, “Damn that’s rare.”</p><p>“I thought the same thing,” Race said. Race, and he assumed Spot felt that, this conversation was getting awkward. Race was about to answer but Spot restarted the conversation instead.</p><p>“How was sheepshead?” he asked, his voice monotone and oh so, low and relaxed. Like a bass guitar.</p><p>“Oh! Awful, Spotty!” Race exclaimed, feeling adrenaline rising in him, “All my winning horses where gone today, so all the bets I made where flunked!”</p><p>“Sorry to hear that,” Spot said, “But hey, at least you’re not getting into a fight because you didn’t pay up.”</p><p>“That was one time!” Race objected.</p><p>Spot looked at him, “Right, one-time, sure Higgins, sure.”</p><p>“I’m not lying!” Race denied, poking Spot in the chest, a little laugh leaving him, “If I was lying, you’d know.”</p><p>“Yeah that’s true,” Spot said, poking Race back playfully. </p><p>Race chuckled. Race took his cigar and put it to his lips, puffing away at the smoke. </p><p>“You want a puff?” Race asked, pulling the cigar away from his lips.</p><p>“No thanks,” Spot explained, extending his hand up to refuse, “I don’t smoke.”</p><p>“Oh, come on,” Race asked, “Are you telling me that the great Spot Conlon – King of Brooklyn is afraid of smoking a little cigar?”</p><p>“No!” Spot defended, turning to him and giving him a stern look, “I-I can smoke a damn cigar.”</p><p>Race rolled his eyes, “You scared?”</p><p>“Hell no,” Spot argued, “Gimme it.”</p><p>He grabbed the cigar from his hand, then brought it to his lips. He looked to Race, giving him a sneaky look, and then puffed the cigar. Yet, Race saw as Spot started to choke on the smoke. Race cackled as Spot choked. Spot let out a cough and sputtered on the smoke in his lungs. Race’s eyes widened as Spot’s choking came more intense.</p><p>“You weren’t supposed to inhale it,” Race argued, moving over to help Spot stop choking. He grabbed Spot’s and pulled him close to his side, patting his back to get Spot’s airways clear. Yet, Spot was still Spot and shoved Race away after that childish attempt. Spot leaned back against the railing. Race still tried to help.</p><p>“You’re such a dumbass,” Race teased.</p><p>Spot coughed violently, “Oh really—” Spot was interrupted by the coughing, “I-I’m the dumb-a-ass?”</p><p>“Yes,” Race teased, “Now come on Spot, let me pat your back.”</p><p>Spot coughing simmered on his own, “Stay away from me.”</p><p>“Aw come on,” Race teased some more, “Let me help you.”</p><p>Spot laughed while his coughing finished, “You suck.”</p><p>Race giggled. Suddenly, Race realized where he was positioned. He was up against Spot, and their face’s touching each other’s. Race could see Spot’s little eyelashes touching down ever so gently. He was so close to Spot, and Race couldn’t help but blush and fluster. Yet, Spot stared back. The two locked eyes and neither could look away. But someone had too, and that someone was Race.</p><p>“Um...” Race stammered, backing away, “Sorry.”</p><p>“Oh...” Spot began, folding his hands in front of himself, “I-It’s okay. R-Really.”</p><p>Race returned to his place next to Spot, hands folded in front of him.</p><p>“Anyway,” Race started up again, rubbing the back of his neck, “I learned something new today.”</p><p>“That is?” Spot asked.</p><p>“That you can’t smoke a cigar to save your life,” Race quipped. </p><p>“Shut up!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello all. I'm hope you enjoyed that chapter. Things are going to start ramping up soon, don't worry. Again, I hope you liked the chapter...and I hope you all have a good day (or night, whenever your reading this)!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Stead of hawkin headlines we’ll be makin’ ‘em today.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello! Here's another chapter! Two things before you read...</p><p>1. There's a little cussing...so...if you don't like that, than sorry :(</p><p>2. In my mind, this the day after the song 'world will know', in between watch what happens (I'm taking the timeline from the musical.) So...yeah. Hope you enjoy it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The news about Manhattan striking against Pulitzer came as a shock to everyone. Every district of New York was raving to here why Manhattan had decided to go all tough and stand up for their beliefs. It was culture shock for all the newsies in New York and none of them knew how to react. </p><p>What was even more of a shock is when Newsies from Manhattan went to different districts of New York and started encouraging them to join the strike. A lot of districts didn’t know what to do. When the newsies explained their ideas about the strike, every single leader was down to do it, at least most of them where, but they all asked a specific question: What about Brooklyn?</p><p> </p><p>Spot found out about the strike three days after he and Race had talked. He was sleeping in his bed, laying on his stomach as he tiredly snored. He groggily woke up to the sound of Hotshot banging on his door. Spot wanted to tune it out and ignore it, but Hotshot was persistent.</p><p>“Come on, boss, this is important!” Hotshot called to him threw his bedroom door.</p><p>Spot groaned and wondered what could be so important at 4:20 in the morning. He had to get up anyway to go sell, but he didn’t want to get up. Was that a bad thing? Probably not. Being 16 and running a whole borough by yourself can be tiring. </p><p>“Boss, I’m going to break down this door, open up!”</p><p>Spot scoffed, “Fine!” Spot shouted back, “You can come in.”</p><p>Spot still laid in bed as Hotshot appeared threw the door. Spot turned his head to see him and saw how frantic he looked. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Spot asked sleepily, concern growing on him the more he looked at Hotshot's face.</p><p>“I have some news,” Hotshot started quickly, “About Manhattan.”</p><p>“Well, what is it then?” Spot asked, leaning his head against the pillow, “Just say it so I can try to get some shut eye before I sell today.”</p><p>“I don't think we can sell today, boss.”</p><p>Spot furrowed his eyebrows, “Yeah we can.”</p><p>“No, we can’t boss,” Hotshot started, sitting on his bed. He tried talking but all words failed, he didn’t know how to say it. </p><p>Spot rearranged himself to sit on his back, propping himself up by his elbows, “What’re you saying?”</p><p>Hotshot took a deep breath before blurting it out, “...Manhattan decided to go on strike.”</p><p>Spot blinked, “What does that mean?”</p><p>“Well so...” Hotshot started, trying to think of a good way to explain this, “Remember a couple days ago when we were getting our papes and all of a sudden the prices changed?”</p><p>Spot nodded, “Yes, continue.”</p><p>“So, fortunately, we were able to pay for it and not make a fuss over it, but I guess, Manhattan started making a fuss. They took some kid and let him charge in and give him a piece of his mind, and they’re on strike. So... they ain’t selling. So, the other districts are confused on what to do.”</p><p>Spot blinked, taking in the information, making sure he got everything Hotshot said was correct. Spot sat up completely now, looking to Hotshot with a serious stare.</p><p>“Kelly organized this?”</p><p>Hotshot nodded.</p><p>Spot licked his lips, “Fuck.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Spot had to announce to his boys that they wouldn’t sell this morning, instead do the evening selling. Sure, it was a shorter selling period, but at least they could get some money. Hotshot had mentioned that Jack wanted to meet with Spot and Hotshot personally. Spot didn’t have anything else to do, so mid-day, two hours before evening selling, he was expecting Jack at his doorstep.</p><p>When the clock struck 3:00, Spot waited in the kitchen for a knock at the door. Hotshot stayed with him, and most of the other boys left to their rooms. It was quiet in the lodging house, a sound that was not common for Spot and Hotshot. There was almost an unnerving feeling that came with silence for Spot. </p><p>A knock from the door disrupted the silence, and Spot couldn’t tell if he was thankful or upset.</p><p>Hotshot moved to answer it. He opened the door wide enough so Spot could see, and Spot saw Jack wasn’t alone. Two boys were with him, one taller than Jack, and one small little with a boller hat on his head.</p><p>Jack and the two boys looked up and noticed Spot immediately, even threw the dark. Spot probably looked like a shadow figure to them. Spot titled his head, gesturing from the three to follow him, but quickly he started to scold himself - they probably didn't see. Apparently, Spot proved his conscious wrong, they did see him and entered into the house slowly. Hotshot tagged behind him and trapped the three boys in a line. Spot occasionally saw the two other kids looking around, but, the little one caught Spot’s eye. He didn’t look scared, which was funny to Spot. He actually looked like he fit in. Hell, Spot didn’t even know this kid but for some reason, Spot even knew who his friends would be in the lodging house. </p><p>Either way, Spot guided Jack, Hotshot, and the two others to his private floor, and to his office. Spot opened the door and sat down at the large desk, Hotshot moving to stand beside him. Jack and the two others faced him. </p><p>Jack cleared his throat, “Conlon.”</p><p>“Kelly,” Spot retorted, folding his arms on the desk in front of him, giving a stare at each and every one of them, “Well, get on with it. I don’t have all day.”</p><p>The tall boy stepped forward. Spot sensed he was nervous, “Well uh, M-Mr. Conlon—” </p><p>“That’s new,” Spot interrupted. Hotshot smirked.</p><p>“Um,” The tall boy started again, “I believe you have heard about the strike that we started.”</p><p>Spot only blinked. </p><p>“Well, uh, Pulitzer raised the prices on us to 60 cents per hundred newspapers we sell. It’s the same all-around town and we shouldn’t have to stand for this,” The tall boy proclaimed, “They intended to help us, instead, they harmed us. More newsies would have to sell longer and harder days to be able to pay rent or even buy food.”</p><p>“Davey’s right,” Jack pipped in, “Look, Spot. You have young kids selling with you. This would affect them too,” Jack explained, sitting down on the chair in front of Spot, “It affects my boys as much as it affects yours.”</p><p>“What my partner is trying to lead too,” Davey began, “Is that, we shouldn’t have to stand for this. They might as well dangle the money in front of us like actual children. Look, Mr. Conlon, sir, we—"</p><p>“We want to strike!”</p><p>Heads turned to the littlest kid in the room – the kid with the boller hat. The tall boy, or Davey, Spot corrected to himself, scolded him, pushing him behind him.</p><p>Davey faced Spot, clearly embarrassed, “I-I’m sorry, my brother’s a bit of a blabber mouth.”</p><p>Spot looked up to him confused, “Let him talk.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Let. Him. Talk.”</p><p>Spot noticed Davey swallowing the lump in his throat, and hesitantly push his brother in front of him.</p><p>Spot studied him for a second. He looked like a happy kid; innocent. Maybe this was the two new boys Race had mentioned to him a couple days ago?</p><p>“What’s your name?” Spot asked, leaning forward.</p><p>“Les,” the little kid answered.</p><p>Spot nodded stiffly, “Go on.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“With what you where saying. You mentioned us joining you?”</p><p>Les trembled unexpectedly. Did Spot scare him?</p><p>Either way, he began, “Well... my brother was going to explain about our big master plan. But I’m going to explain it now, so um, we should start on that.”</p><p>Spot nodded, studying the kid real hard. He seemed about 8 or 9, somewhere around that age. He didn’t have a thick accent so he probably wasn’t on the streets for too long.</p><p>“Well, after the prices raised, Jack and my brother David decided that we should strike. We won’t sell until they, Mr. Pulitzer, puts the prices down. Even if that means other kids can’t sell. As Jack said, no one’s getting to that window until the prices change. Jack, David, and I would really like you to join. With you by our side, we’d be unstoppable. So, Mr. Conlon sir, can you join us? I’ve only been doing this for a little bit but, I think it would mean a lot for Jack’s newsies, like Racer, and Buttons, Finch, and Mush, I think that’s his name. So, can you join us, sir, please?”</p><p>Spot kept a poker face, but he had to admit, the kid was damn cute. Why, of all things, cute kids were his weakness? Also, strangely, Les’s argument was convincing. Spot thought of the pro and cons. </p><p>The pros where good: His rep would maintain, hell, even get stronger; the strike would show that he was loyal. This new financial increase would affect his kids, meaning that his kids, especially the younger ones, would have to sell later hours and work even harder to get the same money they get every day. They’d tucker themselves out. Not even to mention Spot makes every single newsie take 25% of their unerring into a savings system.  This increase in money would only affect Spot in a bad way, so helping would be good. </p><p>But yet again, there was the cons.</p><p>The cons where...severe: Maybe by joining, Brooklyn would be seen as weak. Brooklyn would look like the sidekick in this situation, and did Spot really want his boys to have a weak reputation on their back? No. Also, by being vulnerable, Queens could come in and strike down Brooklyn without warning. Spot would be gone with Manhattan while Queens did damage control. Who knows what could happen once he was gone?</p><p>Spot pulled out of his thoughts, and leaned back, turning to Hotshot. </p><p>“Escort the little one out.”</p><p>Davey protested immediately, “Oh no, Les is okay with me.” Spot watched as Davey pulled Les out of the chair and closer to him. </p><p>“Look Mouth, can you just trust me. I’m not going to bite him.”</p><p>“B-But—”</p><p>“For god sake, just trust me.”</p><p>Davey gulped and gently looked up to Hotshot. Spot nodded to him and Hotshot sent Les out of the room, somewhere discrete where he couldn’t hear.</p><p>“Alright,” Spot started once the door shut, “I like your plan.”</p><p>“You d-do?” Davey stammered.</p><p>“Hell yeah,” Spot answered, “Your brother is pretty damn good in convincing people. I wouldn’t say so yourself, but your brother? He’s good.”</p><p>Spot leaned back, gesturing his hands, “But, I will need time to think it over.”</p><p>“What is there to think over?” Jack asked, “Join us or not, it’s relatively simple.”</p><p>Spot stood up, hands on the desk, “Are you questioning me?”</p><p>“Oh never,” Jack snarled, “Why would I ever question you?”</p><p>“The fuck you say to me?!—"</p><p>“What Jack is trying to say,” Davey intervened, getting in-between Spot and Jack, “—Is that we’d really like you to join our cause.”</p><p>Spot sat back down, sighing, “Look, it’s a good cause, and I’m all for it. But I have to think it over. I need to know that you guys are going to stick to your word.”</p><p>“Stick to our word?” Jack asked, “What are you implying?”</p><p>“I want to know if you guys are seriously ready for this,” Spot explained with a threatening tang to it, “Because if I show up and no one is there, it’s going to be a shit show, for you and for me.”</p><p>“Listen Spot,” Davey started, his tone soft and sweet – it almost sounded like cooing to Spot, “This is a big thing to sign up for.”</p><p>“Don’t pacify me,” Spot snarled, “I have a brain too, you asshole.”</p><p>“N-No, t-that’s not what I-I w-was intending,” Davey retorted, “I-I um, w-well you see, u-uh—"</p><p>“Just can it,” Spot barked, “Can you two just stop barking up my ass?”</p><p>Jack and Davey zipped their lips, and stood straight, facing Spot. One expression filled with worry and concern, while the other was smug and bitter. I think you can tell which one was which.</p><p>Spot sighed, leaning back in his chair. He needed to get back to the point at hand. </p><p>“When is the strike?”</p><p>“It’s in four days,” Davey answered, “O-On Friday.”</p><p> “Alright. But just know your brother is the only reason I’m considering this. He has a damn good argument.” Spot said, standing up from his chair, looking to Davey and Jack, but mainly to Jack, “Other than that, I’ll think about it.”</p><p>Jack nodded, “I sure hope you do.” He then put his right hand up to his mouth, cupping his palm so he could spit into it. Once done, he extended the now spit on hand to Spot, hoping Spot would shake it.</p><p>Personally, Spot had never liked this tradition. Let’s say Spot was a bit superstitious about passing germs. The thought of passing germs only made Spot grimace. It’s unusual for a boy like him to have these feelings towards germs, but Spot has his reasons why. But only one person knew why and that was his self conscious.</p><p>But Spot couldn’t complain and whine about sharing bodily germs with another. He didn’t need to be so sensitive. He could practically hear the critic from Dagger in his head. In the end, Spot copied Jack and connected his hand, almost wanting to gag when their hands squelching together. But Spot kept his poker face.</p><p>“I still can’t believe you guys do that,” Davey exclaimed.</p><p>“Eh, it’s business,” Spot explained, letting go of Jack’s hand. He wanted so badly to wipe his hand or wash it but he couldn’t. Spot then realized that he could get the little boy back. He could kill two birds at once.</p><p>“Stay here,” Spot explained roughly, leaving the room. After the door was closed, Spot darted towards his private bathroom to the sink. He rapidly turned the handle and put his hands under, washing the spit away frantically with the soap and water. Stupid OCD. He hated this constant uneasiness when it came to germs. He was just being sensitive and pacifying himself. </p><p>Once his hand was cleaned, all the self-loathing went away. He took a deep breath, then went to go search out for the boy, calm that he was now clean. </p><p>He went down the stairs to the lobby. Les and Hotshot where on the couch, York and Myron talking to Hotshot. Les must be intimidated, Spot wondered to himself, poor kid. Spot cleared his throat, which got Hotshot to look up. Hotshot looked down to the kid briefly before getting up and walking over to Spot.</p><p>“Do you want me to take him up, or do you want me to bring them down?” Hotshot whispered. </p><p>Spot cocked his head, “Bring them down. It’s easier, and they're closer to the door.”</p><p>“Good point.”</p><p>Hotshot left, leaving York, Myron, and Spot himself alone in the room with little Les. Les turned around to face Spot, eyes wide in bewilderment.</p><p>“Are you really that scary?” Les blurted out.</p><p>York scoffed, “He’s terrifying.”</p><p>“The King of Brooklyn will soak you if you give him a dirty look,” Myron added. </p><p>“Is that true, Mr. Conlon, sir?” Les asked. Spot rolled his eyes, the formal name making Spot’s heart melt. Damn you cute kids. </p><p>Spot shrugged, “Mostly.”</p><p>“Bullshit,” York interveened, “You kick anyone’s ass if they treat you differently.”</p><p>“Well, that’s the right thing to do, right?” Spot asked, “If someone hit me, the right response would be to hit them back.”</p><p>“My brother says it’s not good to hit people,” Les explained.</p><p>“It depends on who you’re in a fight with,” Spot explained, “If you’re in a fight with a guy who’s older than you, you hit him. If you’re in a fight with your mother, then don’t fight back.”</p><p>Myron and York chuckled.</p><p>“You have a mother, right?” Spot asked, arms folded as he leaned against the door frame.</p><p>“H-How did you know that?” Les asked, getting nervous.</p><p>“Little bird told me,” Spot explained, “Do you treat your mother well?”</p><p>Les nodded slowly, “Yeah. I-I do.”</p><p>“Keep it that way,” Spot said, his voice monotone and serious – a tone not familiar to York and Myron. Memories reached far down into Spot, slowly stabbing his heart with the memories of his own mother. But he didn't need to be so sappy, Spot needed to get a hold of himself. “Can you do that for me?” </p><p>Les nodded quickly, “Of course.”</p><p>And with that, Spot turned his head to see Davey and Jack coming down the stairwell. Davey pushed past Spot and held out his hand for Les to grab. Les grabbed onto Davey’s hand, and strangely it made Spot’s heart melt. Spot remembered a time where he did that, where he grabbed onto his hand and... Spot stopped that memory. He ordered himself not to refresh his brain on that tragic part of his life. </p><p>Jack, Davey, and Les walked towards the door. Davey looked to Spot and bowed his head at him, Jack only did stare. </p><p>“I’ll think about it,” Spot instructed, “It probably is a yes, but I still want to think about it.”</p><p>Jack nodded, “Let us know whenever, alright?”</p><p>Then, Jack guided Davey and Les to the front door and out of the house. The room was quiet. </p><p>“Should we have a meeting?” Hotshot asked, breaking the silence.</p><p>Spot shook his head, “Tomorrow, all four of us will meet,” Spot gestured, “Just...I need to think.”</p><p>Hotshot nodded, “Take all the time you need, boss,”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. And a prayer becomes a vow.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello again! Here's chapter 4. Hope you all like it :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tomorrow came rather quickly for Spot Conlon. Since Jack’s arrival in Brooklyn, Spot and his close gang of four where pondering the meeting after selling, but Spot specifically was thinking. He didn’t sleep at all because all he could dream about is the pros and cons for his boys. To be honest, Spot was intrigued about the plan. The strike would up his reputation, and the strike would mean a lot for there, technically not official, alliance between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Plus, Spot knew it would satisfy another person other than Jack. Maybe if they joined the union, Race would...like him? </p><p>God, Spot was being needy. When Spot woke up, he felt utterly disappointed in his neediness. How sensitive of him. Spot could hear his self-conscious scolding him off for being a wimp, and he could hear his thoughts telling him that Dagger was disappointed in him. </p><p>Even though it had been years, what people do to you, stays with you forever.</p><p>Here he was again, being soft! Spot rolled his eyes as he got up from his bed and tried to roll out the knot in his back muscle. It’s hard being a king sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>The day hurried on as boys got up, dressed, to just sit in the house and pounder. Around lunch Spot had sent the boys out to get use their spare money to buy food, leaving York, Hotshot, and Myron with him in Brooklyn. Spot had guided the boys to his office, a more appropriate place to discuss the issue. </p><p>Spot sat down at his desk and looked to the three, “Alright, ready to discuss?”</p><p>“Oh boy am I,” York started, sitting down in the chair in front of Spot. York had decided then and there that he would say his opinion first, “I don’t think we should do it.”</p><p>“Me neither,” Hotshot chirped in.</p><p>“Why not?” Spot asked.</p><p>“Well, it’s risky, boss,” York explained, “Joining a union may show others that we are okay siding with delinquents.”</p><p>Geez that’s a word, Spot thought to himself.</p><p>“I agree – not with the delinquent’s part – but I agree,” Hotshot joined, “Having our name in the papes could either affect us in a good way or bad, and the more I look at it, boss, I think it would show us as being weak. We’d look...reckless, not so much tough.”</p><p>Valid point.</p><p>Spot tilted his head, “What do you think Myron?”</p><p>Myron shurrged, “I mean, both sides are interesting, boss,” Myron began, “But...if I had to choose a side, it would side with York and ‘Shot.”</p><p>“Thank you,” York piped in.</p><p>“—Only because I think you being seen with Jack would be seen as you being petty,” Myron explained.</p><p>“I see,” Spot said, nodding. He crossed his arms as he started with his opinion, “Honestly, I think we should do it boys—"</p><p>“Spot, you’re crazy,” Hotshot interrupted, “Did you not hear all the stuff we said?”</p><p>“I did but the kid – god, what was his name?” Spot wondered, snapping his fingers to get his brain to think.</p><p>Hotshot cleared his throat, “Les?”</p><p>“Les! Yes, thank you,” Spot stated, then went back to the main point, “Les explained it well. So did that tall kid with the mouth. Wouldn’t showing up show that we’re bold? And isn’t Brooklyn known for being bold?”</p><p>“Fair,” Myron commented, “But boss, the last time you – I mean, Brooklyn has been ‘bold’ it ended with you in jail.”</p><p>Spot didn’t want to remember that time. That’s when he realized that he was leading his decision based on emotions – something that Dagger engrained in him NOT to do. And look what he was doing? Disobeying. How stupid of him.</p><p>Spot licked his lips slowly, “...right.”</p><p>“Boss, I-I didn’t mean to upset you b-but—”</p><p>“No Myron, you didn’t,” Spot reassured sadly, “Just...you're right.”</p><p>Spot stood up, putting his hands on the desk as he faced his boys, “It’s just like ‘Shot said. Doing this would show Brooklyn being reckless. We are tough; not reckless idiots. If you want reckless, go to Queens.”</p><p>The three chuckled.</p><p>“So, we have a decision?” Hotshot asked.</p><p>The boys nodded. The three where content, and the one lone wolf boy still was wondering. Maybe this was a good thing that they weren’t going to show for the strike...right?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The day of the strike came and Race was radiating with confidence. He was hyped out of his mind as he walked down the street to the distribution center. Finch was beside Race as they walked.</p><p>“You ready for today?” Race asked, putting his hands in his pocket as he strolled along.</p><p>Finch nodded, “Yeah. I think this is going to be a special day for Manhattan.”</p><p>“I agree,” Race said, “We’re making history today, and hopefully with Spot coming, our cause will explode and Pulitzer will have to change the prices.”</p><p>“Have you talked to Spot?” Finch asked.</p><p>“No, I haven’t, but knowing him, I think he would support us,” Race pondered.</p><p>Finch cleared his throat suddenly, looking to Race, “Can I ask you something?” </p><p>Race didn’t know why, but he felt nervous by Finch’s tone.</p><p>“Fire away,” Race said, curious yet, slightly concerned by Finch.</p><p>“So, if Spot does end up coming, can you figure out a way so I don’t have to stand next to him in the picture?” Finch asked, “He scares me.”</p><p>Race rolled his eyes; thank god it wasn’t anything serious.</p><p>“Sure,” Race chided with a chuckle, “I don’t know how he scares you.”</p><p>“Says the guy who cowered when Jack mentioned Brooklyn,” Finch retorted.</p><p>“What was I supposed to do?” Race asked, “Spot would kill me if I didn’t cower. Plus, you got act for the kiddos.”</p><p>Finch rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Just can you not get Spot to stand next to me.”</p><p>“Don’t worry Finch, I got it,” Race reassured.</p><p>Race realized that he had made to distribution. Race opened the door for Finch and stepped inside. He saw Davey, Jack and Les there, looking slightly worried but also confident. It didn’t make much sense to Race, but he didn’t really push on what he was seeing. Race shrugged that aside and burst in with his usual spunky, trademarking, behavior.</p><p>“You seen Spot Conlon, right?” Race asked, getting the three boy’s heads to turn, “What’d he say?”</p><p>Jack scoffed, “Sure we’ve seen him.”</p><p>“Him and about twenty of his gang,” Davey added.</p><p>Of course, Race said to himself, Spot always has to make a dramatic appearance.</p><p>Les’s wide eyes pulled Race from his thoughts, “And them Brooklyn boys is big.”</p><p>Race chuckled at that.</p><p>“And I got to say,” Jack started, shrugging as he looked outwards, “Spot was very impressed, Wasn’t he?”</p><p>Race walked up to stand next to Jack, Finch following next to him.</p><p>“I’d say,” Davey piped in.</p><p>Race crossed his arms, almost like how Spot did it, but, not as intimidating, “So... they’re with us?”</p><p>Davey crossed in front of Jack, looking to Race, “That all depends on how you look at it. If you look and see Brooklyn, then they’re with us.”</p><p>Race somewhat understood what Davey had said, but at the same time, Race could feel his braincells breaking down at the confusing sentence Davey had said.</p><p>“They wanted proof we’re not going to fold at the first sign of trouble,” Jack clarified for Race. Race glanced behind to see more newsies coming in.</p><p>“Are we?” Finch blurted.</p><p>“We are not!” Jack shut down. He then retorted, “There’s us and Harlem—“</p><p>Mush interrupted him suddenly, “Not so fast, boss. Harlem wants to know what Brooklyn’s going to do.”</p><p>Well, that was a confidence boaster, Race said to himself. He reassured himself, we still have Brooklyn. Sure, maybe not Harlem, but we have the mother-load on their side...right?</p><p>“How about Queens?” Jack asked.</p><p>Specs answered that one, “Queens will be right there backing us up—”</p><p>Oh, thank god, Race said to himself. Sure, Queens and Brooklyn don’t have the best history with each other, but I think Spot and Jax, the King of Queens, can set their differences, aside right?</p><p>Jack smiled, “Ya see?”</p><p>“...as soon as they get the nod from Brooklyn.”</p><p>Damnit, Race thought to himself. </p><p>“I got the same fish-eye in midtown,” Race said allowed, shrugging. </p><p>Suddenly, Jack and the, now all present, Manhattan newsies noticed someone standing around. The newsies where hidden, but they all could see the ever-clear silhouette of the Delancey Brothers.</p><p>“Say Oscar,” Morris started loudly, “Looks like we got bum information about a strike happening here today. Not that I’m complaining. My skull busting arm could use a day of rest.”</p><p>The brothers then scattered off, leaving the newsies in somewhat of a defeated place. The room filled with timidity, and all the pride they had sunk like ship.</p><p>“...Are we doing the right thing?” Les asked suddenly, his voice small which made all the newsies really wonder. Where they doing the right thing? </p><p>Davey reassured his brother, “Sure we are.”</p><p>Race shrugged, feeling down, “Maybe we put this off a couple of days?”</p><p>That seemed smart for Race to say. Maybe they were doing this too soon? What if they weren’t ready?</p><p>“No. We can’t...” Davey trailed off, looking around to see where Jack was. Jack was pacing, Race could tell he was nervous. Davey walked over and was saying things that the boys couldn’t hear. But whatever he said made Jack walk forward strong and determined.</p><p>“We can’t back down now,” Jack said, “No matter who does or doesn’t show. Like it or not, now is when we take a stand.”</p><p>Pride loomed over the group. Unfortunately, Finch squashed that emotion.</p><p>“How about we just don’t show for work? That’ll send a message.”</p><p>Jack walked forward to face Finch, “They’ll just replace us. They need us to stand our ground.”</p><p>Suddenly, Jack turned to Davey, “C’mon, Davey. Tell them.”</p><p>All heads turned to Davey, and Race noticed how timid and shy he looked. But he watched as David took a deep breath and walk forward. He began going on about how this was important, that they needed to seize the day and win. </p><p>Davey’s pep talk was interrupted when Crutchie came in, his crutch tucked under his arm as he joined the group. Heads turned to Crutchie as he started walking forward to Jack. </p><p>“Hey Jack. Look what I made!” Crutchie beamed. He showed Jack his now decorated crutch, the words ‘strike’ printed on it. The newsies smiled, loving Crutchie positivity, “Good, huh? Strike!”</p><p>Race smirked, “That’s great,” he teased, then turned to Davey, neutral expression, “That’s pitiful.”</p><p>Les looked to Race, “Don’t be so quick to judge. Maybe Pulitzer will see it out his window and feel sorry for us.”</p><p>Race missed when he had that childlike optimism. </p><p>“Hey Specs, any signs of reinforcements?” Jack called out. </p><p>When Specs shook his head, the boys frowned, but Racetrack was just...confused.</p><p>Spot usually an early person. He gets to places on time, he always make’s sure he’s dressed exactly. Why would Spot be so late? He’s going to come, Race reassured himself, Spot’s going to be here and back them up...right?</p><p>The evening went on and Davey continued his monologue. Eventually, scabs had shown up and Jack went off telling them – no, begging them to join. Race and the boys where getting hyped up and where excited, but a part of Race still hoped that Spot was coming. I mean, it’s okay if he was a little late. He’s going to show up anytime now, Race told himself, he’s going to walk through the doors, boys are going to cheer, be happy and help beat the shit out of Delancey brothers. Maybe even Spot would like to spend the night and the two could...flirt, maybe. Race didn’t really understand the art of romance. He was good at it, but it was just because of luck and confidence. Race pulled out his mind again when he heard cheers from the boys guiding the scabs to join them. Race shook their hands, being happy and delighted. Race breathed in and breathed out, happy that the strike was being a success. Wait until Spot hears about this.</p><p>Boys where cheering and celebrating and Race allowed himself to join. He was ecstatic. Maybe this strike was a good thing after all.</p><p>The hoots and hollers from the body of newsies suddenly died down and the quiet became eary. Heads turned up and the newsies faces went pale. Wiesel, the Delancey’s, and some random goons stood by the gate. Wiesel was holding a bat and the Delancey’s where armed, one brother had the famous brass knuckles. </p><p>Wiesel banged his bat against the gate bars, making a ratchet clanging sound.</p><p>“Time these kids learned a lesson!”</p><p>Before the boys knew it, a fight was now emerging right in front of their eyes. Kids where hit, kicked, slapped, Race was terrified of what he was seeing. The older boys fought with all there might but every single one of them ended up with some sort of injury. Race was shaking as he tried helping his brother Elmer, up from the ground. Suddenly, Race noticed a police officer. Finally, we have some backup.</p><p>Romeo came up to the police officer and was spitting words at him, but Race twitched when suddenly he saw Romeo get slapped hard across the face. He watched as Romeo went down and Race wanted to go help him, but one man stopped him: Snyder the Spider. Race was panicking. The boys where running around petrified. His brothers where crying and screaming; it was like a war scene. Jack had holler to get all the boys out of there, and Race was helping his brothers along. After watching the boys run, Race was ready to go but suddenly a voice pierced threw the night.</p><p>“Jack? Wait for me!” </p><p>Crutchie.</p><p>Jack, Race and Albert, who was there with them, turned around and noticed how Syndar grabbed onto Crutchie and held him down. </p><p>“No no no,” Race whimpered, running up to Crutchie desperately. But sadly, Albert held him back. Race struggled and watched as Crutchie was shoved to the ground.</p><p>“Jack! Help!” Crutchie shouted, “Romeo! Albert! Finch!”</p><p>Race felt tears leave his eyes as Crutchie was brutally hit with his own crutch. </p><p>“Crutchie!” Jack screamed, but it was too late. He was dragged off by some random goons. Syndar looked to Jack furious. </p><p>“Jack Kelly!” Syndar snarled, and that’s when Syndar bolted off after Jack. Jack then was gone, leaving Albert and Race. </p><p>Race broke free of Albert and ran off out of newsies square. He didn’t know how far he ran, but the one thing he knew where the tears that were streaming down his face. Race was panting and he eventually sunk down into a random alleyway, sobbing hysterically. He was shaking and couldn’t get air in. He was crushed; all the confidence and pride he held before was now brutally broken into nothing. If Spot had shown up, Crutchie wouldn’t have...the thought of that only made Race cry harder. He curdled himself into a ball, hands cupped to his eyes as he painfully sobbed. </p><p>“Awe, look what we have here.”</p><p>Race twitched when he heard the noise. Quickly, he lifted his head up and noticed two guys standing at the entrance of the alleyway. The shine from his knuckles made it clear who it was.</p><p>“Poor little Racetrack,” Oscar mocked, “Did your little strike not turn out how you planned?”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Race spat wetly. He stood up and pressed himself against Oscar. He was now squared up against him, and Race so badly wanted to hit him.</p><p>The brothers laughed, “Someone is talking big,” Morris teased.</p><p>“Maybe we should teach him a lesson,” Oscar threatened.</p><p>“Y-You’ve already done enough today, leave i-it be,” Race shouted, unable to control his voice from wobbling.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think so,” Morris started, shoving Race down the alleyway, “I think your face could be more colorful.”</p><p>“Good idea, Morris,” Oscar mocked, “Maybe by adding more purple’s and blues on there will give little Racetrack a little confidence booster.”</p><p>“Leave m-me a-alone, p-please,” Race whimpered. He trembled and stumbled down onto the ground, landing hard on his back. The brothers snickered. Oscar smirked, raising his armored hand to pound Racetrack.</p><p>“Night Night, Racetrack.”</p><p>Everything went black after that.</p><p> </p><p>Race woke up in a haze. Race honestly rather be passed out again due to the amount of pain he had woken up too. Immediately he felt tears burst into his eyes, yet all the liquid did was sit there and pool, never spilling.</p><p>Yet when his tears finally spilled it was almost painful as the soft liquid touched his beaten face. Race held back a sob from his throat, realizing that he shouldn’t sit here and cry, but it felt like he needed to cry. Crutchie was gone. The fact that he was pulled to the refuge, a place where Race had horrific trauma and knowing that Crutchie was there and would get the same, or even worse treatment almost made Race sick. What made Race spiral down more was the sudden realization of his final words to Crutchie. ‘That’s Pitiful.’ Race let out a sob now, unable to control it anymore. His sobs where painful, and whined. He had to be dreaming, Race pleaded that he was dreaming. He just needed to wake up from this nightmare, and Jack will be there, Crutchie will be there; he’ll get to hold Crutchie and tell him he’s sorry, and that he loves him. Maybe Spot would be there too? Maybe he’ll actually show up? If Spot was there...Crutchie wouldn’t have.... Race sniffled, looking up as more tears fell. He realized then and there that he had to get home. </p><p>Race started to move forward, hoping that he could get on his hands and knees. That task seemed almost unbearable for Race because as soon as he moved his head, he felt bile quickly move up his throat. Race swallowed it down as best he could, trying to block out the pain. But eventually, he was on his two feet. He put most of his support on the wall next to him. He slowly limped home, whimpering as he had to turn corners to head home. But eventually, Race made it back to the lodging house and made himself stand straight in order to enter the house. Once he was standing straight...somewhat, he entered the house. That was a big mistake for Racetrack Higgins.</p><p>Race’s hearing immediately muffled, a high-pitched noise only making it worse. The sound of sobbing made Race’s hearing dissolve. The stupid brass knuckles must’ve given him a concussion, hence why the noise hurt him. Race blinked weekly for a couple of seconds before he suddenly saw Albert approach him, shaking him. He looked desperate to Race, and Race swore he saw Albert’s eyes where puffy. Race’s hearing came back gradually, but when it did, it hit him like a train.</p><p>“Racetrack!”</p><p>“A-Al,” Race mouthed, only the sound of a gasp coming out, “W-What—”</p><p>“Jack’s upstairs. W-We c-can’t get him out o-of the penthouse.”</p><p>Race walked up the stairs, his hearing fading out again to that high pitched ringing. Race got to the entrance to the penthouse where multiple newsies where. They looked terrified and worried out of there mind. Race pushed past his brothers to get to the door. Race jiggled the door but it was locked. Race felt tears well up in his eyes, but he had to be strong for his brothers. He moved to knock on the door, his hearing regaining to hear only silence. </p><p>“Jack!” Race yelled weekly, “A-Are you up there?”</p><p>No answer came from the door. </p><p>“J-Jackie talk to us; a bunch of newsies are d-down here w-worried about you.”</p><p>The only sound coming from behind the door was the sound of metal bars shaking.</p><p>Jack clearly wanted to be alone. Race stepped away slowly, whipping the unshed tears from his eyes that where threatening to spill. Race took a deep, shaky breath, turning around so he could face the group of boys.</p><p>“U-Um...” Race started, “H-How about you all go to your rooms a-and A-Al and me will come check on you guys.”</p><p>The boys scattered off, leaving Race and Albert alone in the corridor. </p><p>“A-Al,” Race started, his voice hitching, “I-I don’t know i-if I can d-do this.”</p><p>“You have too,” Albert persisted, “Jack’s not budging. And Crutchie’s gone—”</p><p>Race bit his lip, holding back a sob. He felt his hearing dissolve again and that stupid, high pitch buzz came back. Albert took Race by the arm and guided him to one of the rooms. When he entered the room, Race’s eyes glanced to the person in the bed. On the bed was Davey and Les. Les was weeping in Davey’s arms and even though Race couldn’t hear a thing, he felt like he could hear it. </p><p>Race knew that this was going to be a long night.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After a grueling two and a half hours of Race and Albert treating the boys, Race was about ready to collapse. His head was in intense pain. The pain was so bad that when he was comforting Finch, he himself wanting to gag. But the only thing he couldn’t hold back was the big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. </p><p>Race limped over to the couch, exhausted. He collapsed down onto the couch and felt his muscles tighten due to the pain. Albert had gone to sleep a while ago, leaving Race the only person up in Manhattan Lodging. He felt numb and all he wanted to do was collapse in on himself.</p><p>The pain was getting worse by the second and Race just wanted the pain to leave. But it never did. After 10 minutes, Race was desperate to find a solution. He turned to his head and spotted something that either would help him or make everything worse. The ‘special’ drinks cabinet. Race had never grabbed anything from that cabinet, knowing that, that cabinet was specifically for leaders only - at least, that's what the previous leader of Manhattan said. Race took a deep breath and stood up, getting a wince to leave his mouth, but Race saw the light at the end of the tunnel. </p><p>He had opened the cabinet and was searching for a full bottle of anything too numb the pain. Race found a glass bottle of tequila and instantly grabbed it. He found a flask also and poured the tequila into it. Race put the tequila in his back pocket as he wondered what to do next.</p><p>His brain was telling him that he needed to leave, and Race’s conscious couldn’t agree more. He couldn’t stand being here, Race almost shivered because of how uncomfortable he was feeling. Race only knew of one place he could sit and drink his tequila in peace, but it was a risky place to go. But did Racetrack Higgins care in the moment? No.</p><p>At 10:38 pm, Racetrack Higgins left Manhattan on a trek to Brooklyn’s docks, the only thing he carried in his busted-up hands where the flask, and his one and only cigar.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Just be real is all I’m asking.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello again! This takes place directly after the last chapter. if you want to go back and read it so you can get a better grasp of it, you can. Hopefully you'll like and yeah, go on and read!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spot was having a pretty good night to be honest. The selling day had been interesting, but overall, not bad, and the night had been filled with peace, an unusual word to describe the Brooklyn newsboys. Even as Spot and Hotshot where getting the littles to bed, not one made a fuss. The older boys had stayed up a little later, which was good for Spot because usually he would have to inform specific older boys to go patrol Brooklyn for the night, and tomorrow they would get the day off. But, when you’re a newsie, you never want a day off. A day off means no money, no money means no food, and no food means you starve. Also, the bad thing about Spot doing this meant that he would have to go into their rooms, fish them out of their beds, and make an older kid go out into the night, exhausted. One time, Spot had ordered an older kid to go patrol and this guy ended up sleeping. Spot found him the next day. </p><p>But thankfully, the boys had stayed up so it was easier for Spot to usher them out of the house tonight. He decided to get Hotshot to be one of those people, which Hotshot agreed.</p><p>Now currently, it was slightly later, around 11 or so, and Spot was reading in one of the little’s bedroom hallway. He always liked sitting in the hallway, it was easier for Spot to hear a little kid having a nightmare or was about to have one when he was in the hallway. Those where fun little life hacks for being a leader of a newsboy district, all originally from Spot’s brain. Even though Spot has never gone to school, he was pretty damn smart when it came to raising a group of boys.</p><p>Spot flipped the page of his book, continuing to read the lines on the page. Spot stopped focusing on the text when he heard the front door close. Spot tried not to worry about it, but his mind was coming up with ideas on who it was. It could be an intruder, or one of Spot’s newsies who came in late? Spot’s imagination was spiraling, and Spot couldn’t tell if he hated it or was content with it. </p><p>Spot looked up when he heard someone coming up to the second floor from the stairwell. Spot was expecting the worst but when he saw Hotshot, his heart rate slowed. Hotshot’s head was snapping around like a giraffe searching for its leaves to eat. When his eyes met Spot’s, he quickly started rambling words out.</p><p>“Boss!” Hotshot started, walking forward to Spot. He inhaled sharply as he quickly talked, his voice low to try and not wake the littles, “Now I know that you told me to go patrol, and I should be doing that, but boss I saw something and I-I wanted to check in with you to see what I should do about this. I don’t know if you need to get involved or I’m just going crazy. M-Maybe I’m going crazy? Do I sound crazy to you—”</p><p>“Slow down,” Spot interrupted, “Jesus, you’re giving me a headache.”</p><p>“Boss this is important, please,” Hotshot begged.</p><p>“Whatever it is, I trust your opinion, alright?” Spot reassured.</p><p>“No boss you don’t—” Hotshot stopped himself, groaning as he tried to form his words. Instead, Hotshot held his hand out, “Come with me.”</p><p>Spot shut his book, placing a dog ear on the page he left on. Spot let Hotshot pull him up and Spot followed Hotshot downstairs to the lobby. In the lobby was Myron and York, sitting at the kitchen bar and enjoying a nice glass of...Spot assumed it was water.</p><p>“Your very fast, ‘Shot,” Myron commented, “You got home like...five seconds ago and now you’re here with Spot.”</p><p>“It’s probably because ‘Shot has important business,” York wondered.</p><p>“It is important business,” Spot intervened. He sat down on the couch, looking to Hotshot directly. He sighed, clapping his hands together, “Tell me what happened. Slowly.”</p><p>Hotshot took a deep breath before explaining, “So, I was patrolling as you know, and I was towards the docks, but it was the area where it’s that long strip. Anyway, I was walking and I heard something coming from there, so I went to go check it out and saw this guy sitting by the docks, his legs dangled over the edge. Usually, I would’ve soaked the guy, but...this guy was different, he almost felt familiar. He was a newsie, I knew that. He was wearing a cap that only a newsboy would wear. So, I was going to soak the guy because I assumed it was a queen’s kid, but then I-I heard...well, I-I think I heard this guy...crying.”</p><p>Spot hummed. </p><p>“Did you see anything else about the guy?” York blurted out.</p><p>Hotshot shook his head, “I don’t know. It’s dark out there, all I know is that this guy was a newsie, and he was crying. That’s all I know.”</p><p>“Yeah, but did you see anything else?” Spot intervened.</p><p>Hotshot pursed his lips, a nervous look in his eyes, “...well I have a hunch.”</p><p>“A hunch?” Myron parroted.</p><p>“What’s your hunch?” Spot asked urgently.</p><p>“I-I don’t think I should say,” Hotshot stammered, fiddling with his shirt neckline.</p><p>“Spit it out,” Spot persisted.</p><p>Hotshot groaned, “Fine, but remember this is just a hunch. So, don’t freak out boss,”</p><p>Spot folded his arms, staring at Hotshot, waiting for him to explain.</p><p>“...I-I think the guy there is…Racetrack.”</p><p>“Racetrack?” Myron echoed.</p><p>“The Manhattan guy who Spot fangirls over?” York teased.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Spot snarled. He turned back to Hotshot, “W-Why would you think it’s Race?”</p><p>“Well boss, tonight was the strike, remember?” Hotshot said, “And if that truly was Race and he was crying, that only makes me assume the strike didn’t go well. T-The timing works out, boss.”</p><p>“Damn. Your good,” York commented, “You should be one of those detective people.”</p><p>“Maybe…” Spot started, “I-I should go take a look. If it is Race then I should…check on him.”</p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Hotshot offered. Spot nodded his head as he turned to York and Myron, “Keep an eye on the boys.”</p><p>And with that Hotshot and Spot started their trek to find, supposedly, Racetrack Higgins. Hotshot guided Spot through his quiet, cold, streets. It was aery, almost unnerving. Spring can be predictable in Brooklyn. Either it's burning hot, or it’s wet. When there was in between there was this...unnerving feeling, like the feeling Spot was around now. Spot was thankful summer was around the corner, but at the exact same time Spot only knew what came from summer: The hot ass sun. What’s even worse, Spot knew what came after summer, fall. Spot had concluded that weather was weird, and by the time Hotshot had stopped walking, Spot continued walking, he was so caught in his own thoughts to look up. But eventually, Spot did look up and stop, watching as Hotshot gestured to the alleyway.</p><p>“He here? —”</p><p>Hotshot shushed him, then spoke in a low voice, “He could hear us.”</p><p>Spot rolled his eyes and started again, his voice hushed, “He’s in here?”</p><p>Hotshot grabbed Spot’s wrist and pulled him into the alleyway. He pulled Spot towards the exit of the alleyway, or more so, the entrance to the dock strip, a place where there were no people, no buildings, just the back of those buildings, railing, and water. </p><p>Spot peaked past the building, and indeed, there was a guy sitting there. Spot observed the guy and noted that there was no sound of crying, which honestly, brought Spot some relief. Hearing people cry almost was worse than watching, in Spot’s opinion.</p><p>“Is that him, boss?” Hotshot whispered, peaking around Spot’s shoulders.</p><p>Spot shrugged, “I don’t know,” Spot whispered back, “I’m going to take a look.”</p><p>“But boss, that’s risky—”</p><p>“You think everything is risky,” Spot muttered before sighing quietly, turning to Hotshot, “Look, I think I should check it out. If it’s Racer, then I’ll bounce on my heels once, and you can go home. But if it’s not Racer, then I’ll bounce on my heels twice, and you can join me to soak the guy. Alright?”</p><p>Hotshot nodded, “Yes boss.”</p><p>“Okay,” Spot said to himself, turning back to the stranger sitting alone. He exhaled quietly before walking out, “It’s like ripping out a knife. Quick and easy.”</p><p>After that, Spot left the safe alley to go approach the stranger. He took slow easy steps towards the guy, trying to peak at the stranger’s face. Once he was to the side of the man, 6 or more feet away from him, he got a good look of the guy’s face, and indeed to Hotshot’s hunch, it was the one, the only, Racetrack Higgins. Spot looked to Hotshot and bounced his heels once. Hotshot took that signal and left the alley, leaving Spot and Race alone in the strip. </p><p>Spot looked to Race briefly before announcing his presence. Race had his cigar, laying limply in his mouth. His back was scrunched as he leaned forward to look at the water. Something seemed off to Spot, and he was going to find out. Spot dug his hands into his pockets as he cleared his throat.</p><p>“Hey Racer.”</p><p>Race glanced up to Spot, but then stopped, turning back to look at him. Race stared deeply in his eyes, which made Spot slightly tense. Race took out his cigar from his mouth, the intense staring only continuing. Spot’s tense emotion then switched into worry when all of a sudden Race started... laughing. Loud, ferocious laughing, as if Spot had cracked him up with a funny joke.</p><p>“W-Well look who it is,” Race announced loudly, trying to regain his breath before speaking again, “Spot fucking Conlon. Here, to see me. Wow.”</p><p>Spot furrowed his eyebrows, worried, “A-Are you okay? You seem...off.”</p><p>“Off?” Race proclaimed obnoxiously. He started to laugh again, “Oh, I’m the one who’s off. Oh, Spotty boy, you are hilarious. You should be checking yourself, buddy boy.”</p><p>Race snickering continued, it even continued as he grabbed a flask from his pocket and brought it to his lips.</p><p>“Are you drunk?” Spot blurted.</p><p>Race removed the flask from his lips, straight serious, “If it took you that long to notice I was drunk, then no wonder you didn’t go to the strike.”</p><p>Spot sighed sadly, “Race I—”</p><p>“Oh don’t,” Race snarled, “Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fucking play that sympathy card on me. I will hit you if you do.”</p><p>Spot zipped his lip, looking as Race swigged the flask before returning it to his pocket. Spot slowly approached Race, and eventually, he got close enough where he could sit next to him, not too close, but not so far. He was now against the other side of the railing post, Race to his left.</p><p>Spot took a deep breath before speaking again, “Why are you drunk in my borough?”</p><p>Race licked his lips, “Lot’a reasons.”</p><p>“Such as?” Spot asked. </p><p>Race rolled his eyes, bitter. “Well, I’m mad at you for one. Secondly, the strike went to fucking hell and I don’t wanna go home, I need an escape.”</p><p>For the four years Spot knew Race, he’s never seen Race cuss this much, and now thinking about it, Spot has never seen Race truly drunk. Spot noted to keep the liquor cabinet locked when Race was over in Brooklyn.</p><p>“Everything was fine at first,” Race started, “Davey gave us some pep talk, and I was hopeful. I reassured myself that everything was going to be okay, and that you will come sweep us up off our feet and join our cause. After the pep talk, Scab’s came, and Jackie convinced them to join the union. Everything was good, and I got myself a picture in the pape. The girl, Plumber, she was really sweet. But...I should’ve known everything would go to shit.”</p><p>Race sighed, his shoulders sagging. He fiddled with the cigar in his lap, “...then the Delancey brothers and... s-stupid fucking Weasel came and ruined everything. Weasel had a fucking bat and fucking hit whatever was in sight, no matter what age. We fought, and when the police showed up, we thought they would arrest them, but the police did nothing. Not fucking anything. A-All they did was slap Romeo and bring f-fucking Syndar...</p><p>“Fucking Syndar,” Race shouted, “Not only do we have the boys from the distribution center beating our asses, we also have the police and fucking Syndar.”</p><p>Spot, unexpectedly, felt tears sting into his eyes. Spot’s mind filled with what if’s and would haves. Would’ve the boys not have been beaten if Brooklyn was there?</p><p>Race started up again, taking a sharp inhale before talking, “...Jack was h-hollering for us to leave, and most of the boys had left, but...Crutchie was t-too slow. Jack and I-I watched as Crutchie was t-thrown down and b-beaten with his own d-damn crutch...</p><p>“I ran after that. I don’t remember w-where I ran too, but I remember I was crying, and when I stopped, that’s all I-I did: Cry. Then the Delancey’s came, a-and I got a fun gift from them.”</p><p>Race pointed at his left eye, and the massive bruise starting to form. Spot reached forward to touch it, but Race’s hand abruptly stopped him, moving it away from his face. </p><p>“I-I got home, f-freaked out, g-grabbed8 a f-flask and now I-I’m here,” Race concluded sadly, “In pain, h-heartbroken, traumatized, and fucking pissed off.”</p><p>Race looked away, hand covering his mouth to muffle the sound of light sobbing. Race took a deep breath and recovered, “Crutchie’s in the refuge now...”</p><p>Spot’s heart cracked at that. The tears in his eyes never spilled, but they were there, making his eyes all shiny. Spot looked away, rubbing his eyes quickly before looking to Race who was turned away, trying to not let his tears fall in front of Spot. </p><p>Race then grabbed his flask, taking a swig from it before putting it down next to him. His jaw had tightened and his face was filled with frustration, “...All thanks to you.”</p><p>Race looked to Spot now, the look of frustration and furry on his face making Spot squirm. </p><p>Race looked away again, picking up the cigar in his lap, twisting it around his fingers, “Remember when you got me that Corona cigar last month?”</p><p>Spot nodded, “...yeah.”</p><p>Race swallowed hard, his throat straining, “I-I was going to open it tonight and smoke i-it. If the strike was successful I-I was going to smoke it with you... b-by my side. We were going to sit on my fire escape and watch as the sun set.”</p><p>“W-We were going to t-t-that t-together,” Race whimpered.</p><p>Spot sighed, feeling guilt and anger rise in him. If only Race knew. If only he understood. Suddenly, Spot looked up when Race whipped his arm back and threw the cigar out of his hand, casting it out violently to the water. </p><p>Spot leaned into Race, “Race maybe you should—” </p><p>“Calm down?” Race shouted. He suddenly stood up, and Spot stood with him. Race continued, “Shut the fuck up S-Spot, y-you don’t even...” </p><p>Race stopped suddenly, grabbing onto the railing tightly, trying to steady himself. He stumbled back suddenly, giving some space between Spot.</p><p>Spot then started his explanation, “Racer, I’m sorry I didn’t go, okay? I wanted to go to the strike, I really did, but...after talking to my boys, we decided—”</p><p>“You’re the fucking KING OF BROOKLYN!!” Race exploded, “You don’t need a fucking council to help you with your fucking little ass decisions.”</p><p>“You don’t even know!” Spot shouted back, “When you’re a fucking leader you come tell me if you have to ask about people’s opinions! Don’t you fucking lecture me on being the King of Brooklyn. I’ve run this borough since I was fourteen, I think I know what the hell I’m doing!”</p><p>“Do you though?” Race countered, “If you knew what you were doing you would’ve realized that going to something that your allies are hosting would be, I don’t know, a good idea?!”</p><p>“Oh wow, nice thing to say to your friend of four years,” Spot spat, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. You aren’t even happy I came to check in on you. You’re so selfish, you know that?”</p><p>“Fuck you!” Race hissed, bending his knees as he let out of his anger. Race then stared to Spot and approached him violently, grabbing onto the neckline of his shirt, pulling Spot close as he shouted in his face. Spot flinched, not used to the force coming from Race.</p><p>“I hate you!” He shouted as he shook him, “I hate you! I hate you!”</p><p>Spot took a whiff of Race’s breath and anyone who smelled it knew that Race was drunk. Spot didn’t feel like fighting with a drunk man, let alone his best friend, hell, his crush. Spot stood there stunned, watching as Race spat drunken words at him viciously. It astonished him.</p><p>“I-I hate you!” Race continued, his voice hitching, but he didn’t even acknowledge it, “I HATE you! I-I...”</p><p>Race stopped as his voice hitched noticeably. His eyes pooling with tears as he looked to Spot’s face. Spot swallowed hard, staying as perfectly still as he could. He watched as Race stood there, slowly crumbling. Race stood there frozen, like a statue, as tears pooled. Race bit his lip, trying to stop it from wobbling. But it wasn’t long after when Race finally broke. He lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Spot, his head hitting Spot’s shoulder as tears fell down his face uncontrollably. He let out pathetic, drunk, high-pitch, weeping into Spot’s shoulder. Spot felt his heart ache at the sound of Race’s cries. Spot immediately wrapped his arms around Race’s waist, holding him closer.  As Race cries become worse, Spot ran one of his hands up and down his spine, while the other cradled Race’s sore, heavy head. Race held onto Spot tightly, his tears coming down like a waterfall. </p><p>Spot exhaled, pitching his tone to be hushed, only supposed to be audible for one, “...I-I don’t hate you.”</p><p>Race sobbed harder after that, tears coming out of his eyes freely. Spot felt his shoulder became wet due to Race’s tears, but could Spot blame him? No. </p><p>“I-I don’t hate you,” Race admitted pathetically, hiccuping as he talked, “I-I don’t, Spotty. I-I-I w-would n-never...”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Spot whispered, running his fingers threw Race’s curls.</p><p>Race continued on crying pathetically, his voice whined and pained, “I-I’m so s-sorry~”</p><p>Spot pulled away, looking to Race with a soft sad smile. Race was trying his best not to sob when Spot was looking at him, but Spot honestly didn’t mind. Spot gently moved his hand up to brush a fallen tear off of Race’s cheek. </p><p>“I’m s-sorry, I-I didn’t mean to be so...” Race swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he spoke, “...e-embarrassing.”</p><p>“Oh please,” Spot excused, “I’ve seen worse. Trust me.”</p><p>“I’m still s-sorry,” Race explained, “I’m humiliating myself in front of you by me crying, and being drunk and hurt and sad and hurt and drunk and—” </p><p>“Racey,” Spot interrupted, his tone hushed and soft, which made Race freeze, “You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep going like that.”</p><p>Race nodded, but tears still fell. </p><p>“I-I’m sorry,” he whimpered again, “I-I didn’t m-mean to b-be so...” Race never finished that sentence.</p><p>Spot put his hand into Race’s, “This is all my fault,” Spot stated, looking to make eye contact with him, “Look, if I would’ve gone, Crutchie wouldn’t have been taken...” Spot paused when he saw Race tense up, god he really messed up, “...a-and you wouldn’t be here all sad and upset. Don’t apologize for anything, okay? This is my fault and I am taking the blame, you understand me?”</p><p>Race swallowed hard, but nodded a little. He looked away, tears still sparkling in his eyes, but they didn’t spill.</p><p>Spot cleared his throat, letting go of Race’s hand. “Maybe I-I should take you home?” </p><p>Race started trembling again, the tears in his eyes now growing accessibly large. Spot felt Race start to breath air in more quickly. </p><p>“P-Please don’t...” Race pleaded wetly, tears pouring down his cheeks, “D-Don’t, p-please S-Spotty—”</p><p>“Okay,” Spot hushed, more panicked now seeing Race upset again, “O-Okay, we don’t have to go home to M-Manhattan. How about you come stay with me... f-for the night? Does that sound b-better?””</p><p>Race nodded, his breathing calming down. He looked down to his feet, embarrassed again. </p><p>Spot sighed, looking up to an exhausted looking Racetrack. Why did Race think having alcohol whilst having a concussion was a smart idea. But could Spot blame him? He was trying to block out the physical, and probably mental pain. Spot would’ve tried the same thing. Speaking of alcohol.</p><p>“Race?” Spot said, his voice as syrupy as he would allow, “Can you give me your flask please?”</p><p>“Why?” Race asked, somewhat in a hazy voice.</p><p>“I don’t want you drinking anymore. Hand over the flask,” Spot answered, his hand out straight in front of him.</p><p>Race sighed, reluctantly placing the flask in Spot’s hand. Spot immediately grasped it and unscrewed the top of it off to get a whiff.</p><p>Spot recoiled, “Jesus Christ,” Spot muttered to himself. As much as Spot liked a good drink here and there, he really didn’t appreciate the smell of tequila, “Out of the drinks you could’ve picked you picked tequila.”</p><p>Race’s face turned bright red. Race opened his mouth to explain, but he recoiled and looked down to the ground, humiliated beyond belief. </p><p>“I’m sorry that was rude,” Spot apologized, “Look, how about I just take you to the Lodging house, okay? Does that sound good to you?”</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” Race answered, sniffling on his hand as he rubbed away the snot coming from his nose.</p><p>Spot put the flask in his pocket and gentle manhandled Racer to have his arm wrapped around Spot’s shoulders, “Does this feel okay?”</p><p>Race nodded, “Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay just, tell me if you want me to slow down,” Spot instructed, “Ready?”</p><p>Race nodded, letting Spot support his weight. Spot started his trek back to his house, a drunk version of Race by his side. </p><p>They had walked for a while, Spot supporting all of Race’s weight. Race was barely picking up his feet, and Spot felt like he was just dragging him down the sidewalk. Drunk and concussed Racetrack was not a fun sight to see, Spot told himself. Spot could feel Race’s misery and wanted to take it away. He would rather have all the pain in the world rather than seeing Race in pain. Was that a creepy thing to say? Spot didn’t know. Maybe it was more of a crush thing to say? Or even, maybe it was the inner big brother in him wanting to protect. Either way, Spot hated seeing Race in this pathetic state. Speaking of Race’s state of mind, Race suddenly flung himself off of Spot, limping towards an alleyway. Spot was about to grab him when suddenly Race knelt down and started to gag, bile leaving his lips as he painfully hurdled. Spot moved to Race’s side, gently patting Race’s back as he threw up. Race tried to say sorry, but where interrupted by sputtering and heaving. Spot got what he was saying though.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Spot reassured, his voice soft and gentle, “It’s okay, really. Take all the time you need.”</p><p>Race continued to vomit for a little bit longer, and when he was done, he put his hand against the wall. Spot watched as Race trembled, sniffling a little, hinting that he was going to cry again. Spot’s heart ached. Seeing Race this pathetic was painful for Spot to witness. Spot tried to help Race support himself but...he couldn’t. Race stood there, pushing his hands away.</p><p>“Dizzy...” he said, putting his hand on his head. </p><p>“It’s getting darker out here, Racey,” Spot whispered, not noticing the nickname slipping from his mouth, “Either we go home and get you in my bed, or we sleep out here, and I don’t think you want that...just—”</p><p>A lightbulb came into Spot’s head. He had an idea and it was extremely bold. But he was willing to do anything for his friend, and crush. So...</p><p>“H-Hey, what are you doing?” Race said as Spot grabbed him gently and started to rearrange him. Suddenly, an exhausted Racetrack was lifted up into Spot’s arms, Race’s hands wrapping around Spot’s neck. </p><p>“This is easier,” Spot explained firmly, not making eye contact with Race, “I-It’s only a short walk. Just relax, I got you...”</p><p>Race tried to squirm but it was hopeless. He tucked his head into Spot’s shoulder, looking behind where Spot was walking. Spot rearranged Race in his arms as he walked, Race letting out a settle moan as he curdled into Spot’s warmth. Before Spot’s very eyes, Race drifted to a light sleep. </p><p>Eventually, Spot got to the lodging house, opening the door to enter the house. He gently stepped in, Race moaning groggily as moved to close the door. He looked around to check if they were people around, and thankfully, no one was. Spot let out a sigh of relief, moving over towards the stairwell. But apparently, his conscious wasn’t exactly right, because as he got closer, Hotshot emerged from the corner. Both boys stopped in his tracks, Spot’s face blushing bright pink as Hotshot looked up and down at Spot’s and his attachment.</p><p>“Uhh...” Hotshot started, the word becoming long and prolonged, “...I see you have a little friend?”</p><p>Spot sputtered, “Um yeah. I-I guess you can say that.”</p><p>Spot only became more embarrassed by the fact that Race stirred awake. He moaned, looking up to Spot, confused and still not sober.</p><p>“Spotty,” Race whined, “W-where am I...”</p><p>Spot, still eyeing Hotshot, leaning down to discreetly tell Race, “W-Where at my place. Uh, Hotshot is here with us.”</p><p>“Oh,” Race slurred, blinking, “Tell him I’s not drunk. Don’t want to be too embarrassing – eh, where is he anyway.”</p><p>Spot looked up to hotshot, giving him a deer in the headlight’s type of look. Before Spot could intervene, Race flung his head around and smiled when he saw Hotshot.</p><p>“Hey, look who’s it is,” Race slurred, a giggle escaping his lips, “By the way, I’s not drunk.”</p><p>Race turned his head back to lean against Spot’s shoulder and he quietly giggled to himself. Spot looked to Hotshot and nodded, mouthing, “He is.”</p><p>“Oh, absolutely,” Hotshot whispered. </p><p>Spot gave an unsure smile to Hotshot before starting to walk to the stairwell, Hotshot following behind the two. Spot had guided Hotshot and Race to his private floor, moving over to his private bathroom. He moved down the hallway and guided Race to the bathroom sink, gently setting him down on the counter. Race’s head flopped back, hitting the wall hard.</p><p>“Ow~” Race whined. Spot ignored that and gently rearranged Race to not slip off the counter, making sure he was secure. </p><p>“’Shot, can you grab me a towel, and soak it in water,” Spot instructed. Hotshot obeyed, moving over towards the sink to get the water running. While Hotshot was doing that, Spot gently gestured Race to lean on him as Spot undid the buttons on his shirt. </p><p>“God Spotty, you’re so strong,” Race slurred as Spot quickly undid the buttons and removed Race’s shirt, leaving him only in the thin black undershirt. He threw the shirt behind him into the tub, it barely falling into the oval hole. Hotshot chuckled as Spot undressed him, only making Spot wanting this process to go faster. </p><p>“Youse ‘retty too.”</p><p>Spot froze and so did Hotshot.</p><p>“What did he just say?” Hotshot asked, putting the towel in Spot’s hand. Spot grasped the towel, looking to Hotshot as he did.</p><p>“He didn’t say anything,” Spot excused, moving to put the cloth on Race’s face. </p><p>Race moved the cloth away, “I’s said you where—”</p><p>“Shhh,” Spot hushed, dabbing the cloth on his eye, “No more talking.”</p><p>“Youse bossy,” Race giggled, “don’t youse shush me.”</p><p>Spot wanted to laugh, but he held it back, bit his lip until he felt recovered enough to talk. He smiled coyly, “Too bad. I just did.”</p><p>Hotshot moved next to Spot, staring at Race with an inquisitive look, “The bruise looks big.”</p><p>“He got hit by brass knuckles,” Spot explained, “Told you I should get some.”</p><p>“Sheesh, no one would trespass Brooklyn if they knew that was coming,” Hotshot commented. </p><p>“I know right?” Spot quipped. He turned back to Race and removed the towel, throwing it back to the tub behind him. Spot looked to Hotshot, “Can you grab me some water.”</p><p>Hotshot left the room, leaving Race in the bathroom with Spot. Spot then made quick work of removing Race’s suspenders, unclipping them from his pants.</p><p>“Youse so nice Spotty,” Race slurred, “S’its no wonder I like you so much.”</p><p>Wait, Spot said to himself. He replayed Race’s last sentence in his head. He probably meant platonically, there’s no way he meant anything other than that right? But what if he did say what he said – what if he meant what he meant? No, it wasn’t possible. He’s just extremely drunk and is being sappy, yeah that’s what he meant.</p><p>Spot nodded, gently moving behind Race to unclip the suspender. He then grabbed all of Race’s remaining clothes, and threw them across the room into the tub, noting to himself that he would have to get them later. He looked up to Race, noticing Race’s curdled delirious smile; half crooked yet sweet and syrupy.</p><p>“Can you walk?” Spot asked, grabbing Race’s hands to help him down off the counter. Spot one hundred percent didn’t twitch when Race squeezed his hand back. </p><p>Race got onto his two feet, looking to Spot with a snarky smile, “Yeah I can—” Race was about to take a step when his legs gave out, leaving Spot to grab onto him. </p><p>Spot rolled his eyes, quipping, “You sure can walk, huh?”</p><p>Race chuckled distantly, leaning his head against Spot’s shoulder, not moving in the slightest. Spot hoisted him up into that bridal position again, Race latching his hands around Spot’s neck sloppily. </p><p>Spot carried Race all the way to his bedroom and set him down gently on the edge of his bed. Spot made quick work of moving the covers up top neatly so Race could easily slide down into the bed. Race knelt down, trying to untie his boots, but Spot quickly stopped him.</p><p>“Hey stop,” Spot said, crossing the room so he be in front of Race, “Let me.”</p><p>“Youse such a gentleman,” Race exclaimed, “Not only are youse hot, but, you’re such a gentleman.”</p><p>Warning alarms where going off in Spot’s head. Did Race...really like him? If so, what was he going to do. Should he admit his feelings? What if Race was joking? He was really drunk so he had to be joking. Right?</p><p>Hotshot came in and handed the glass to Spot. Spot took it and handed it to Race. </p><p>“Drink it,” Spot ordered. He then turned to Hotshot, “I’ll take care of him for the rest of the night. Go to bed okay? Don’t patrol.”</p><p>“Are you sure? I can go if you want?” Hotshot offered.</p><p>Spot stood up, patting his shoulder, “Go to bed, unless you want me to drag you down there.”</p><p>Hotshot smirked, “Fine.” Hotshot then turned to look at Race, waving, “Bye Race.”</p><p>“So long sucker,” Race whined, flopping down onto his back, legs dangled over the edge. Once Hotshot left, Spot shut the door and turned to Race, quiet. He moved over to put Race’s shoes against the dresser, making sure they're both even and perfectly aligned next to each other. </p><p>“Alright,” Spot said, turning around to face Race directly, “Ready for bed?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Race said with a giggle. He turned over and crawled up where the covers where pulled down. Race quickly turned to sit up. Spot sat in front of him, gently pulled the covers back so race could extend his legs. Race hummed, leaning his head again Spot’s shoulder. Spot didn’t mind Race being clingy but he was nervous as hell. </p><p>Race pulled away suddenly, getting Spot to make eye contact. </p><p>“Your heart’s beatin’ really fast,” Race stated, “You nervous?”</p><p>Spot blushed, “N-No. Y-Your hearing things.”</p><p>“I think I heard everything,” Race teased. He ran his fingers along Spot’s chest, “Is there something youse ain’t telling me?”</p><p>Spot was frozen, looking at Race deeply, the air between them growing thin. Race’s face became neutral, eyes locked with Spot’s. Spot’s heart beat quicker, swallowing hard as he and Race breathed quietly in science.</p><p>“You like me back...like in that way?” Race asked, tilting his head slightly. Spot swallowed thickly, tilting his head down barely. Race licked his lips, a smirk growing on his face, “You do, don’t you?”</p><p>“What if I said yes?” Spot asked, blinking slowly, slowly leaning closer. </p><p>Race wrapped his hand around Spot’s neck lightly, leaning in a little closer, nose barely brushing Spot’s, “Then kiss me.”</p><p>Spot felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He wanted too, but a realization hit him like a train.  Race was drunk and had a concussion. Spot took a wild guess that Race wasn’t going to remember any of this. Even if he did, he would be utterly mortified. Did Spot want to take that memory of kissing him away? Did he want to cloud Race’s memory of his first kiss. No. He certainly wouldn’t want anyone to do that to him – honestly, it wasn’t the first time some special moment in his life was taken from him. So why should Spot enable it? </p><p>Spot looked down, sighing sadly. He really didn’t want to do this. I mean, Race was right there, he could just kiss him right there and now. But Race wouldn’t know, and he would take that special moment away from him. When we’re going to kiss, Spot said to himself, I want Race to remember the magical moment along with me.</p><p>“I can’t,” Spot said, gently grabbing Race’s hand and taking it in his hand. He ran his thumb over the knuckles, “I really want to. But you're drunk, and concussed. I want us both to remember our first kiss. I don’t want you to miss it.”</p><p>Race whined, digging his head into Spot’s shoulder. Spot could tell Race was upset, “But Spotty, I’ve waited so long.” </p><p>“I know, I know,” Spot hushed, feeling extermly guilty. But he knew this was right, “But I don’t want to take something so special away from you. That’s...the worst thing I could do.”</p><p>“But Spotty,” Race whined tiredly, “Please.”</p><p>“Listen,” Spot soothed, “If you remember this conversation, meet me next Sunday; where I handed you the corona. And we’ll talk there, alright? If you don’t remember this, then...” Spot pulled away, grabbing Race to look at him directly. Spot felt himself choke; he was throwing away the one thing he wanted – he needed. But he knew he had too, and if the universe really wanted them together, then he will remember. Spot gently leaned forward, kissing Race gently on the cheek. Spot pulled away, gently taking Race’s hat off, holding it in his hands as he smiled sadly. </p><p>Spot cleared his throat. He stood up from the bed, gently putting the covers over Race’s upper body. He set his hat next to the night stand and looked to Race one last time in his drunken daze.</p><p>“Night Tony,” Spot whispered, “Go to sleep. I’ll see you when you wake up.”</p><p>Race smirked; lids already half-closed. Spot left the room slowly as he stared at Race. The lump in his throat only started to ache more. Spot gradually got to the door, slowly shutting it, making sure to get the last looks of Race – the Race who liked him, the one who was in Spot’s fantasies; the cure to Spot’s lonesomeness. Yet, when the door shut and Race was out of sight, Spot knew that it is what it is, a fantasy. </p><p>Spot stood there numb, only taking shallow, hollow breaths. Then it came out, the small burn of tears only made Spot quickly walk to his bathroom. He shut the door once he was inside, sinking to the floor with hands in his face. </p><p>His lip wobbled. Race was right there and he threw it away, and he couldn’t change anything about it. Race was going to forget everything and his chance of love was gone. Spot let out a quiet sob, small little tears leaving his eyes silently. Spot sniffled as he rubbed his tears away. His eyes drifted to the shirt in the tub. He grabbed it and looked to it regretfully. He held Race’s shirt and clutched it tight, burying his head into the fabric as he slowly and quietly sobbed alone. </p><p>His one chance for love. Gone.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Starin’ right at’cha lousy with sta’cha</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello again! I have a new chapter for you, yay! </p><p>Okay, brief timeline thing: This takes place after the last chapter, and a little bit before King of New York. </p><p>I hope you guys are liking the story and yeah! Go on and read!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night went on slowly, the hours slowly passing by as Race slept. He was curdled among Spot’s sheets, tucked in nicely. But by the time dawn first struck, Race was not so tucked in anymore. He was laying on his stomach, sprawled out as he snored lightly. But, when Race woke up, he wasn’t ready for the agonizing pain that hit him. </p><p>Race blinked warily, his head killing him. He curdled deeper into the depths off the sheets, letting the light in the room go away. </p><p>Wait ...light?</p><p>Race’s mind started ticking. Brooklyn didn’t have any form of electricity. Race grunted, trying to figure out what time it was. Race continued to blink until his vision wasn’t blurry, that’s when his hearing came back. He heard rustling of wood, like someone was rearranging their seat and it scratched the floor. Race moaned, tilting his head away from the noise. Race slowly got onto his elbows, looking up to see Spot at the small desk in the corner, writing something down. Race leaned back, unexpectedly hitting his head hard against the wall, getting Spot’s attention.</p><p>“You’re up,” Spot stated, turning around to face him, “How did you sleep?”</p><p>Race shrugged, trying to say something but only coming out a mumble. Race restarted, “What happened last night? My head is killing me.”</p><p>You want to know what else was killing Race? The fact that he slept over, in Brooklyn, in Spot’s bed, and Spot is...seemingly okay with it all? Race couldn’t remember anything from last night and he couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse. What if he’d said something stupid? </p><p>Spot sighed, rolling his eyes, no sign of disappointment at all, “Well um...you strolled into Brooklyn last night; drunk. Told me how the strike didn’t go well.”</p><p>“I’m sorry about that,” Race apologized sheepishly, “I hope I didn’t say anything stupid.”</p><p>“Yeah, you didn’t say much,” Spot stated, looking to his feet, “You, um, kept getting sick. It wasn’t a hassle. You’re not that much work.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Race asked.</p><p>“Yeah absolutely,” Spot said sincerely, yet his tone seemed off. Race didn't push it though. Spot stood up and gestured towards the corner of his bed, “Here’s your clothes. Get dressed in them whenever you feel like it.”</p><p>“What time is it? Race blurted, sitting up a little more.</p><p>Spot hummed, pulling out his pocket watch. He squinted as he read it, “Uh, I’m going to say 11, but this stupid thing is always broken.”</p><p>“11?” Race repeated, “You didn’t go selling this morning?” </p><p>“No,” Spot answered, “Someone needed to watch you and I opted to do it.”</p><p>“That’s nice of you,” Race smiled.</p><p>“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Spot muttered. He took a deep breath and turned back to Race, “Come down whenever you’re ready and I’ll take you to the bridge, alright?”</p><p>Race nodded, only making the pain more noticeable that it was there. Spot left after that, and when the door shut Race grunted, putting his hands over his eyes. The mental image of Spot helping him last night made Race shiver – why did he have to miss it all? Race’s memory came back in segments. He remembers all the way up to Spot picking him up, and that’s it. Again, why did he have to miss it all?!</p><p>Race slowly got out of bed and into his clothes. Race wouldn’t say he was a suspicious person, but he was looking at his clothes and something seemed off. Not that he didn’t trust Spot or anything, but... something seemed off to him. He picked up his shirt, which looked the same but one thing caught Race’s eyes... a wet patch? Smaller than a dime? The only way Race could describe it would be dried tear droplets.</p><p>Race knew he was crying last night, but Race didn’t recall him crying into the ends of his sleeves. And besides, he always rolled them up so how was it possible? This would be an unsolved mystery to Race and one day he’d get his answer. Race started off by putting his suspenders on and once that was done, he put his shirt on. He intertwined his fingers through the button until it reached the top. When that was finished, he moved his vest up and over his shoulders. He stood up slowly, his head starting to pound like its own singular heartbeat. It wasn’t as painful as yesterday, but it was still pain. </p><p>Race opened the door and walked down to the lobby to find Spot, pouring water into a little cup. He turned around and saw Race, handing the cup to Race.</p><p>“Where’s your hat?” Spot asked, getting Race furrowed, “Did I forget to put it out?”</p><p>“I-I don’t remember,” Race admitted. </p><p>Spot nodded, patting Race’s forearm lightly, “I’ll get it, just drink that.”</p><p>Spot left up the stairs, leaving Race alone in the lobby by himself. Race forgot how big Brooklyn Lodging was compared to Manhattan. He’s never slept over in Brooklyn Lodging, especially in Spot’s bed. But the reason why he slept in Spot’s bed made Race shiver. Being a drunken mess in front of Spot, and crying on him will forever be an embarrassing memory to Race. He wished he could remember the rest of the night, but he couldn’t. He vowed never to drink tequila again. </p><p>Spot came down with Race’s hat in his hand. Race smiled, taking the hat from Spot. Spot put his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels as Race put it on. The two stared at each other in silence, the both becoming awkward because their obscene staring. Race and Spot chuckled awkwardly, looking away from each other.</p><p>“So,” Race started, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “Do you want to walk me to the bridge?”</p><p>Spot nodded, “Y-Yeah, sure.”</p><p>The walk was quiet and the tension was rising the closer and closer they were getting to the bridge. Spot and Race would occasionally glance at each other, but look away before the other would look. The two newsboy’s mindset’s where different, but the one thing their mind had in common was being giddy. </p><p>Unfortunately, both newsboys had arrived to their destination. Spot turned to Race, clapping his hand together.</p><p>“Well, this is it,” Spot stated.</p><p>“Yeah,” Race said. He looked out to the bridge, almost in a longing way. But to Spot, it also seemed as if he didn’t want to leave. Race shook his head and turned to Spot, a small smile on his face, “Thank you for taking care of me.”</p><p>“It’s no biggie,” Spot reassured, “We all have our moments.”</p><p>Race nodded, “Well...I-I’m going to go now.”</p><p>Spot nodded back. Race slowly go onto the bridge, looking to Spot one last time before starting his walk. </p><p>“Wait,” Spot interrupted. </p><p>Race turned around, looking to Spot, “Yes?”</p><p>Spot swallowed hard, looking down at his feet to compose his thoughts. He then quickly looked up and started, “I...I just want to say that if your union needs anything – where going to be there, alright? I’m going to send over a guy today or tomorrow saying we’ll be there if you need us, something along the lines of that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but I think we should turn over a new leaf and look forward, don’t you agree?”</p><p>Race smiled, nodding, “Yeah, yeah I do.”</p><p>“One more thing,” Spot added, “I admire your strength. Standing up to someone like that is something that, hell, I don’t think I would be able to do on my own. Promise that you won’t give up. Giving up is showing that us newsies don’t have a voice. Let Manhattan be that beacon for us, alright?”</p><p>“Will do,” Race answered.</p><p>Spot sighed, folding his arms, “Anyway, enough with the sappy shit,” Spot began, “If you need anything, I’m only a bridge away.”</p><p>Race laughed at that quip, “Yes, I know.”</p><p>Spot grinned, something that made Race’s stomach flip, “Thank you, Spot.”</p><p>“No problem,” Spot finished. </p><p>And with that, Race left, glancing back to Spot two or three times before walking off to Manhattan. Spot stayed there a little while, staring at the bridge dividing Manhattan and Brooklyn. </p><p>He was only a bridge away. </p><p> </p><p>Race entered Manhattan Lodging quietly. It was oddly silent, no sound of rustling or boys chattering. Race thought maybe he could get to his room, grab a cigar and find any clues to where his brothers went. He walked up the stairs up suspiciously, looking around to see if anyone was around but yet, no one was around. </p><p>Race entered his room and noticed how cluttered it looked. Albert’s bed, which was on top of Race’s, was all messed up and the sheets where all bunched together. Maybe he didn’t sleep well, Race questioned. Maybe, he was too lazy to make his bed. Either way, Race approached the side table next to his bed and opened the top drawer. In the drawer where three cigars – his two basic ones that he always used and the special corona Spot got him. He smiled when he saw the corona, it reminded of him of how sweet Spot was and how nice he was...</p><p>Race’s head ached suddenly, the word nice triggering his mind to think. He got a little mental image of him on Spot’s bathroom counter. He remembers saying something, but he can hear Spot hushing him and telling him to be quiet – then he was...flirting? </p><p>‘Too bad. I just did,’ was a phrase that Race’s mind spiraled with. Was Spot flirting with him? Or was he just being nice? Race walked out the door, his mind still wandering. If Spot was flirting with him...did that mean that he, possibly had--  </p><p>Race jumped when he felt a hand touch his forearm. He flinched and backed up to only be greeted by a scared, and relieved, looking Albert.</p><p>“Al?” Race asked. Before Race could ask a question, Albert started to spit out questions.</p><p>“Where the hell of you been! I, and all your brothers, have been worried sick,” Albert barked out.</p><p>Race really didn’t know how to explain it. So, he lied.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I-I needed to get air,” Race explained, readying himself to tell the lie, “I-I panicked last night after you went to bed and ran off. I must’ve fell asleep in an alley last night on accident, I’m sorry I worried you guys.”</p><p>Albert sighed, looking away. He leaned his head against the wall, letting out a relived, yet still bitter sigh. </p><p>Race started to babble, “Don’t be mad at me. Please Al, I was having a rough time last night, after Crutchie being taken, Jack locking himself away, and everyone else, I just....I panicked okay. I know I’m the second, and I know I was supposed to be here, but after I did that last night I was emotionally drained and I needed an escape okay. W-We all have our moments, Al, and I—”</p><p>“I’m not mad at you,” Albert admitted, “I was worried something bad happened to you like...Snydar took you to or something.”</p><p>Albert looked to Race, smiling sadly, “I’m not mad, alright? I’m just glad you’re okay.”</p><p>Race smiled back, moving to the left of Albert. Albert leaned his head against Race’s shoulder, looking out to the exposed first floor ceiling. </p><p>“Where are the boys?” Race asked.</p><p>“There at Jacobi’s. I told them I’d come soon because I wanted to see if you or Jack would get back.”</p><p>Race tensed, “W-What do you mean, Jack? He ran too?”</p><p>Albert pulled away from Race’s touch. He pushed himself off the wall, and nodded his head.</p><p>“Damnit,” Race muttered to himself, “Okay. How about we go to Jacobi’s and just be with them. Jack will come home when he’s ready.”</p><p>Race pushed himself off the wall, standing straight as he faced Albert, “Come on, we should get going.”</p><p>Race guided Albert down the stairs to the door. The two walked outside, and started their walk to Jacobi’s deli. Race put his cigar in his mouth as he walked, trying to make life feel seemingly normal.</p><p>“Why should we continue, Racer?” Albert blurted out.</p><p>Race turned to him, “What?” he asked, pulling his cigar out mid-sentence.</p><p>Albert restarted, “Why should we continue this union. If it’s only going to lead us to being hurt – physically and finically, then why should we continue?”</p><p>Race thought about that question, wondering how exactly he could word it. Honestly, he was going to agree with Albert but the thought of Spot in his mind kept him from saying otherwise. Brooklyn was going to be there the next event, and maybe, just maybe if they show up, the game would change.</p><p>“Honestly,” Race started, “I think we need to keep hope. Just because where a group of kids who sell newspapers on the streets doesn’t mean we don’t have a voice too; it doesn’t mean we don’t have opinions. Just like Davey said, we mean business, and we shouldn’t be silenced for something that is going to hurt us. We’ve already started this, and there’s no turning back now, and I think if we just stay optimistic, something good will come out of this.”</p><p>Race and Albert had finally made it to the doors of the deli. Albert stopped, turning to Racer.</p><p>“Do you really think that?”</p><p>Race nodded, “I do. We just have to wait and hope. A person told me once, giving up is showing that us newsies don’t have a voice, and we need to rise up and be the beacon. We’re going to be the leaders, Al, and this union is going to mean a lot to people. Trust me.”</p><p>Albert smiled, “Yeah...you're right.”</p><p>Race nodded, “Now, I think we should go in there, and be with our brothers. Alright?”</p><p>After that, Race and Albert entered into a sad environment of newsboys. Only a few looked up to notice Race’s appearance. Whispers guided the room as Race and Albert entered. Race took his spot in one of the chairs, joining the group of quiet, solum newsboys. Race knew that Manhattan being the beacon for all the newsboy districts would be very stressful yet very rewarding in the end.</p><p>When Jacobi entered, Race felt a tiny shimmer of hope. But when Katherine Plumber, the reporter herself entered the scene, Race felt that things where turning up – and knowing that he got in the paper made Race swell with delight, and the newsies absorbed that energy.</p><p>Race thought about one thing as he left Jacobi’s that afternoon: Spot was right about a lot of things.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Hey Manhattan, the calvary’s comin’!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello again! I'm back with another chapter, hope you like it and...yeah! Enjoy :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Holding true to his word, a couple days after the strike, Spot had sent out a guy to tell Manhattan that they would be there for their next union event. When Manhattan heard the news, they were relived beyond belief, but Race especially was thankful for Spot’s honesty. With this relief, Race took it and put it into encouraging his brothers that things were going to be okay – no matter what happens. Even though Crutchie was still in the refuge and Jack was gone, everything was going to be okay...right?</p><p>Later that night, Specs received a leader from Crutchie in the refuge. He came back pretty shaken up and Race was curious to why. He had grabbed the letter from Crutchie and read it to himself. When he finished it was hard to hold back the tears in his eyes. Flashbacks to his time in the refuge clouded his memory. He remembered sitting in a bed with one boy beside him and another at the end of the bed, in a great amount of pain. He was only eleven at the time and shouldn’t have been beaten by Snyder, or shouldn’t have felt the rath behind each whip Race got. To think that Crutchie was getting the same treatment only made Race want to vomit. </p><p>He couldn’t read it anymore, so he handed it to Specs and told him to get it to Jack, some way or another. Race had spent the rest of that day in Jack’s penthouse, weeping quietly in Jack’s bed due to how empty he felt. He slept in the penthouse for a couple more nights, still trying to keep up the positive attitude around his brothers. The newsboy’s needed a miracle, and it needed to come fast.</p><p> </p><p>“A what?” Race exclaimed.</p><p>“A rally!” Davey stated, “What if we hosted a rally?”</p><p>“What kind of rally?” Specs asked.</p><p>Davey started to pace in front of the Manhattan newsboys, “Well, what if we invited all the newsies of New York and got them to come to a rally where we promote our cause! It’s brilliant!”</p><p>“That seems like a lot of work, Davey,” Albert questioned.</p><p>“Yeah,” Elmer started, “How are we going to tell the other districts about the rally?”</p><p>“We could split up and spread the message,” Davey brainstormed, “Just like we did before.”</p><p>Albert sighed, “Davey, we—”</p><p>“You know, that could work,” Race interrupted, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The newsies behind him grunted, making Race confused, “What was that for?”</p><p>“Race, if no one showed up to the strike, then who’s going to show up for a rally?” Mush rationalized.</p><p>“Here’s one thing that’s different about the strike and the rally,” Race started, “Brooklyn’s coming. Spot vowed to us that they would be there for the next event. And...”</p><p>Race looked around and caught his eye on the coffee table. On it, there was the folded newspaper that got them above the fold. </p><p>Race picked it up and showed it to them, “Look at this! We got ourselves in the paper. If we can do that, then we surely can host a rally and speak business. This is proof that we will stand our ground and that we have an official union.”</p><p>Race took a deep breath. He noticed how his brothers looked, he knew those looks. They were unsure and uneasy, something that Race knew all too well. </p><p>“Look guys, I know the strike didn’t work out how we wanted it too. But...by taking this approach it would be more...civil. And we’d all be protected. Lord knows the King of Brooklyn and his gang could soak a couple of goons with their eyes closed.”</p><p>The boys chuckled, smiles appearing on their faces.</p><p>“I say,” Race started, looking to Davey and giving him a reassuring nod, “We should listen to Davey.”</p><p>The room went quiet, and after a long pause, the boy’s heads nodded in agreement. </p><p>Race smiled, looking to Davey, “You were saying?”</p><p>Davey smiled back, looking to the boys in front of him, “Okay, now that where doing this, we need to figure out where, how, and when are where doing this. Any ideas? I have one, maybe we could host it here?”</p><p>“We can’t do that,” Albert nixed, “Where bold, but where not that bold.”</p><p>“Okay, fair point,” Davey said.</p><p>Race hummed, “What about Jacobi’s?”</p><p>“Not enough space,” Tommy boy chided in. </p><p>“Hm,” Race pondered, “This is hard...”</p><p>Suddenly, heads turned when they heard a little voice pep up from behind Davey. Les moved in front of Davey and asked, “What about Medda’s Theater?” </p><p>All the Manhattan newsboys collectively looked at each other at the same time and said, “...Medda’s Theater.”</p><p> </p><p>The rally was in motion! A few days after Davey, Les, and Race set the plan up, they had sent out newsboys to every district of New York to invite them to the rally, with the added bonus of Brooklyn’s reassurance.</p><p>Race, Davey, Les, and all the Manhattan newsboys got quickly there and started setting up shop. They were split into sections. One group assembled signs, another cleaned up the theater, another searched around with Medda for extra items for the strike. Race was a part of that grouping. He searched around with Medda to find any sort of sign of rebellion. That’s when Medda brought up something.</p><p>“Wait,” Medda started, moving past Race to go into one of her spare rooms. In this spare room, there was stacks upon stacks of backdrops, presumably all painted by Jack, “I think I may have something.”</p><p>Race looked around in the dark room and let Medda find the thing she was looking for. Suddenly, the shadow of Medda’s hand gestured for Race.</p><p>“Can you give me a hand, sugar?” </p><p>Race ran over immediately and helped Medda grab the painted backdrop. It was a nice sunset landscape, just what Jack would normally draw. </p><p>“What is a nice sunset going to do?” Race asked, not in a mean tone, more of a questionable one.</p><p>Medda smiled sadly, turning the board around so Race could see what was there. There was a painting of a large boot, with newsies being crushed under it. Pulitzer was written on the boot, representing what Race had been building up inside of him. Race stood there and admired it, and to be honest, it made him tear up a little.</p><p>“Do you think it will be good?” Medda asked. </p><p>Race turned to Medda, pulling himself out of his thoughts and smiled, “A-Absolutely.”</p><p>After taking the painting to the front, and assembly everything together, now all they had to do was wait. After a couple minutes most of the newsboys started to pace, nervous energy stabbing into each and everyone of them. Medda stood by and watched the boys as the boys hopes left them, their heads hung low. </p><p>Suddenly, a knock came from the door. All the Manhattan’s newsboy’s heads turned, looking up to the noise. Davey scanned the room and slowly walked towards the stage door on the left. He opened it, but none of the newsboys could see who it was until Davey gestured them inside. A group of boys came in, around five or six of them. Head’s looked up to the sign and all the boys felt that energy rise in them: Flushing was here.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think the ‘Y’ is straight,” Hotshot fussed as he walked beside Spot.</p><p>Currently, the Brooklyn boys where walking to the theater for the rally. Spot had placed Myron and York in charge of leading the way because Spot wanted to prepare what he was going to say, make sure none of his boys where falling behind, and the honest truth, relax with Hotshot before the storm starts. So, he was walking behind the group, which gave Hotshot and Spot a good look at the sign Hotshot had made for the newsboys. Hotshot was always pretty artistic when it came to stuff like that.</p><p>“I think it’s straight,” Spot responded, folding his arms as he studied it, “I think you did good on the sign.”</p><p>“Really?” Hotshot asked, “I feel like it’s a little gimmicky.”</p><p>“I don’t think it draw’s that much attention,” Spot answered, “I mean, it just says what district where from and I think that was your goal, right?”</p><p>“It is but...” Hotshot pondered, staring at it for a few seconds before speaking, “I-It just looks eh.”</p><p>“Stop being such a Debby Downer,” Spot whined, “It looks fine, the Y is straight and the color options look just fine, just can it.”</p><p>“But—” </p><p>“Can it!” Spot warned playfully, shoving him lightly, getting Hotshot to smirk. </p><p>“Hey Boss!” York called out, “Where here.”</p><p>Spot looked to Hotshot, shrugging his shoulder. Hotshot leaned towards him whispering, “Ready for your big entrance?”</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” Spot replied dramatically, getting Hotshot to snicker. He got in front of the group and looked to the door. </p><p>“Here’s the note, boss,” York explained, handing the note to Spot. Spot read it, memorizing the address in his head. He then looked around, making sure they were at the right place. They did say come through the stage door. So, Spot grabbed his hand on the handle and tugged on it to only find that it was locked. Spot pulled again, only to get the same respond.</p><p>“It’s locked,” Spot stated. He moved to put the note in his back pocket as he looked around for another way in. Sure, he could’ve just knocked, but Spot’s the King of Brooklyn, do you think he would start to act all polite? No. So, Spot started to look around. His eyes caught on a ladder that led to a balcony upstairs. </p><p>“Over here,” He directed, walking over towards the ladder. He started to climb it, but he quickly realized that he was the only one out of his group to climb it. He turned around mid-climb, handing onto the railing, “Are you waiting for an invitation? Let’s move!”</p><p>The boys obeyed quickly, climbing up after Spot. Spot reached the top and looked to the door, quickly studying as the boys scampered up. Spot glanced back, and once all of his boys where up on the balcony, Spot shoved his shoulder into the door, it flying open immediately. Spot smirked to himself, he’s still got it. </p><p>Spot was the first to enter the theater, his boys trickling in behind him. Spot looked down the balcony to see newsies from all around New York, with signs explain where they were from. Spot crossed his arms as his newsie brothers looked down. Hoots and Hollers came from the boys, and Spot could do was lower his hat, his brothers doing the same. He then tucked it back on, walking down the stairs to enter to the main floor. Spot noticed Davey standing where his boys would be. Davey extended his hand out, and Spot returned it, shaking it with a firm grip. The newsies cheered louder, and Spot felt his chest warm. To be honest, Spot loved the attention.</p><p>Medda moved forward, announcing out loud and proud, “Welcome, Newsies of New York City. Welcome to my theater and your revolution!”</p><p>The crowd cheered, filling the room with pride. Davey disconnected Spot’s hand from his, and instead moved over towards the front, facing the group.</p><p>“Let’s hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!” Davey announced, more hoots and holler’s coming from the newsies. Spot rolled his eyes, moving forward. Spot caught glimpses of the boys to his left, mainly glancing at Race. He was being supportive; clapping and cheering for him. Spot smirked, raising his hands up. Then, being the dramatic son of a bitch that he is, he silenced the crowd only by closing fist in a swift motion. The crisp silence made Spot command the room.</p><p>“Newsies united!” Spot started, “Let’s see what Pulitzer has to say to you now,”</p><p>The crowd was roaring, and because of that, Spot let a hint of a smirk leave him. Spot moved back towards his group of boys, standing in front of his little pod and watched as Davey moved forward. Suddenly, Davey’s little brother started spoke out.</p><p>“Hey, where’s Jack?”</p><p>And with that, all the other newsboy districts started to chant. Spot glanced over at Race and noticed how upset he looked: Upset with all the praise going to Jack. Spot also noted to himself that Race’s bruise wasn’t getting any better. Spot looked away before people could see anything and watched as the room filled with noise. Spot could clearly see that Davey was getting flustered; he knew what that felt like. Medda came up next to him as the cheers continued on, whispering something in his ear as the crowd got louder and louder. Suddenly, Davey had enough.</p><p>“Newsies of New York!” He shouted, making the room dead quiet by his simple shout. He continued, “...look at what we’ve done! We’ve got Newsies from every paper and every neighborhood here tonight. Tonight, you’re making history.”</p><p>Newsboys cheered, even Spot threw in some applause here and there.</p><p>Davey went on, “Tonight we declare that we’re just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor.”</p><p>The cheers only got louder, and Spot noticed the smile on Race’s face. It wasn’t big, but it was there.</p><p>“We’re done being treated like kids! From now on they will treat us as equals!!”</p><p>The boys continued to cheer, but only the group started to cheer louder when a certain leader of a certain strike appeared through the door.</p><p>“You want to be talked like an adult? Then start acting like one,” Jack Kelly announced.</p><p>Spot almost laughed allowed, that was a whole lot of bull coming from Jack.</p><p>Jack continued, “Don’t just run your mouth. Make some sense!”</p><p>The boys continued to cheer after Davey announced his presence. Spot caught Race’s beaming smile, which honestly, it almost made Spot smile himself. </p><p>Jack started his monologue, “All right. Pulitzer raised the prices of papes without so much as a word to us. That was a lousy thing to do.”</p><p>The boys cheered on. </p><p>“So, we got made and let ‘em know we ain’t going to be pushed around,” Jack lectured, “So we go on strike. Then what happens? Pulitzer lowers the price so we all go back to work? And a few weeks later he hikes the prices back up again, and don’t think he won’t. So, what do we do then? And what do we do if he decides to raise his price again after that?”</p><p>Okay, now Spot was confused. Why was Jack contradicting himself? Spot noticed Race’s face drain of its color, his face now a ghostly white. The group of newsboys became quiet and confused. Jack was spitting nonsense and the boys, especially Spot, couldn’t help but feel betrayed; toyed with.</p><p>“Fellas, we got to be realistic,” Jack begged, looking to Spot with a pleading expression, “We don’t work, we don’t get paid. How many days can you go without making money?”</p><p>Spot felt anger boil in him, and the energy was transferred to all of his Brooklyn boys.<br/>“However long, believe me, Pulitzer can go longer!” Jack called out threw the booing and shouting. Spot slowly walked forward, his boys following behind him like a pack of wolves. Jack continued on, “But I have spoken to Mr. Pulitzer and he has given me his word: if we disband the union, he will not raise the prices again for two years. He will even put it in writing!”</p><p>The booing for even louder, now drowning out Jack to the point where he can’t even hear himself. Spot’s gang surrounded Jack now in a circle.</p><p>“I say we take the deal. Go back to work knowing that our price is secure! All we need to do is vote “NO” on the strike! Vote “NO!!”</p><p>After that, things went wild. Jack had backed into Spot and when Jack was in Spot’s attack circle, he shoved Jack roughly away from the middle of the room. He was not deserving enough to be in the lime light. The boo’s and shouts drowned Jack out and Spot watched as Jack looked away, slowly crumbling within himself. </p><p>Spot watched as a little boy – Les! Spot corrected himself – walked forward to tap Jack. Jack flinched raising his fist at the boy. That’s when Spot went ballistic. Spot shouted at him, as soon as the little boy ran away, broken and betrayed. Spot’s boys following behind his lead. The newsboy districts went away, upset and frustrated. </p><p>When Spot had finished screaming over Jack’s panicked state, he turned back to see Race, his eyes glossy and liquid. Spot quickly told Hotshot to let the boys know he’ll be home soon, that he needed to spend some time with someone. Hotshot completely understood, taking the boys back threw the now unlocked stage door. All the newsboys had left, annoyed and bitter with Manhattan and even with Brooklyn!</p><p>Spot turned his head back and briefly caught a glimpse of Race walking up some random stairwell upset and broken. Spot wanted to go after him but stopped when he realized that he was alone...in the theater. Spot despised Jack, how dare he betray us like this?! </p><p>Spot turned around, annoyed, but suddenly stopped as he saw Davey standing there with Les hugging his leg. The two looked exhausted. Davey’s eyes locked into Spot’s, and when that happened, Spot felt the need to say something. But he didn’t. There was no verbal way to describe there, and even his own, emotion right now.</p><p>Spot stood there for a little bit, staring at the two of them before turning around to begin to leave. Suddenly, Spot felt something grasp his leg. He flinched unexpectedly, but when he turned around, he wished he never did. Little Les was hugging his leg, and Spot instantly melted. Spot looked up to David, giving him a sympathetic smile.</p><p>Davey sighed tiredly, “I’m sorry, I should’ve—"</p><p>“No,” Spot interrupted, putting his hand up, “Please, let me.”</p><p>Davey shot Spot a confused look. Spot knelt down to little Les, glancing to Davey before speaking to the kid. The kid looked tired and had tear stains on his cheeks. He looked so tired. If this was one of Spot’s kid, he would’ve already put him in bed by now.</p><p>“Hey kid,” Spot said softly, gently touching his hand against Les’s arm, “You doing okay?”</p><p>Les briefly glanced up to Spot before looked back down at his feet. He sniffled, which gave Spot his answer.</p><p>“I know,” Spot reassured, now holding Les by the forearms gently, “But listen, you did really good, okay?”</p><p>Les shrugged glumly, only getting Spot to roll his eyes, “You did. Don’t beat yourself up.”</p><p>Spot watched as Les started to crumbled. Spot sighed, gently tucking his hand underneath Les’s chin so he’d could see him. Les’s big eyes where filled with that hopelessness that Spot has seen before; not only in his own boys, but in himself. </p><p>Spot smiled softly, “Listen, I wouldn’t have even shown up if it wasn’t for you. You and your brother have done so much for us, and we haven’t done anything for you two. That leadership kid, and you naturally have it. I’m proud of you guys, specifically you.”</p><p>“Why? All we’ve done is just made everything worse. We’ve d-done nothing,” Les explained sadly.</p><p>“You gave us newsies a voice, that doesn’t seem like nothing,” Spot explained. He then exhaled, changing the subject, “Here’s what I think you should do. I think you should go home, make yourself a nice bowl of warm soup, snuggled next to your brother and just let em know you love em, maybe even fall asleep, okay?”</p><p>“Well, what if I fall asleep with the soup in my hands?” Les asked groggily.  </p><p>“Davey will figure that out,” Spot excused, “What I’m trying to say is that you should go home, take care of yourself and just hug your brother and let him know how much you care about him. He'd really appreciate that, okay?”</p><p>Les hummed for confirmation, his eyes drooping little by little. Spot sympathized with that. He knew Les wasn’t one of his littles but, he knew what Les wanted. Spot slowly stood up, and hesitantly grabbed Les gently under the ribs and lifted him up to his hip. Les leaned into Spot, his eyes fully shutting close as he cuddles into Spot’s shoulder. Davey looked as nervous as hell, but Spot didn’t care. He walked forward, his arm supporting Les from underneath, and gently handed off Les to Davey. Les wrapped his arm around Davey’s neck as Davey supported the little Les sized koala bear. Davey opened his mouth to speak but Spot stopped him.</p><p>“Listen,” Spot started, “I have kids in my borough Les’s age – I get it. You two have done more for us than most newsies have done themselves. You’ve done well, and I’m proud of what you both accomplished. Brooklyn will be there for anything, all right?”</p><p>Davey nodded, a small smile prickling on his face, “T-Thank you,” he replied, voice small but there.</p><p>Spot patted his shoulder firmly before leaving threw the wings, a new objective in mind and that objective was finding the disappointed and betrayed Racetrack Higgins.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you liked the chapter, sorry if it was a little long, I kind of popped off a bit. Anyway, I hope you like it and yeah! Have a good night, day, afternoon? Whenever your reading this, I hope your day is swell :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. And if I'm gone tomorrow, what was ours still will be.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This takes place right after the next chapter...yeah! Hope you like it :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cold, that’s how Race felt, mentally and physically. Race should’ve known this was too good to be true. He should’ve known something was going to happen that was going to make him crumble. Race sniffled, whipping away the tears that where threatening to spill. He stuck his cigar in his mouth, trying to calm himself down with the single puff. Sadly, it didn’t work.</p><p>Suddenly a knock from the balcony door made Race jump. He turned around and noticed Spot’s head peering through the crack. Race smirked pathetically, shaking his head as he turned away. He puffed the cigar smoke out of his mouth as Spot slowly approached him. Race continued to look out even as Spot moved to Race’s side, placing his hands on the concrete edge wall. Race was leaned forward, blinking at the world around him, the building window lights shimmering in Race’s gaze as he teared up. He lived in a beautiful city, but there where cracks in the city, and when you fell in those cracks your views changed. </p><p>This place where Race has lived for all of his life...all he could see was betrayal smeared all over the pavement and brick walls reaching up and into the sky. He swallowed hard, letting that bitter silence continue on. He knew Spot was looking at him concerned, but he didn’t need Spot’s sympathy. He wasn’t drunk anymore and in need for Spot to carry him. But at the same time Race longed for that. He longed for someone too lean on because clearly Jack couldn’t do that, nor Crutchie or Albert. Race tightened his jaw, focusing on getting rid of the lump in his throat. He stuck his cigar in his mouth, puffing out smoke out into the city once more. He studied the smoke, noticing how delicate it was. But there was a clear comparison between smoke and Racetrack Higgins: Their purpose disappears when life gets tough to keep a grasp of. </p><p>Race sensed that Spot was going to speak, but Race interrupted him before he could even finish his exhale, “People can be fucking idiots, you know?”</p><p>Spot sadly chuckled, “Yeah. Yeah, they can.”</p><p>Race changed his posture, leaning back as he looked out to the world. He sniffling, running his hand against his eyes as his tears threatened to spill. Spot started to speak:</p><p>“Race, I’m so sorry,” Spot apologized desperately, “If Jack didn’t come to the rally, your union would’ve—”</p><p>“Would’ve,” Race huffed, “Word of the week.”</p><p>Spot restarted, “He wouldn’t have contradicted your whole union. It isn’t your fault that Jack is just an ass and can’t think straight.”</p><p>“Something had to have happened,” Race pondered, “Pulitzer must’ve scared him – maybe even threatened him with something. I-It just doesn’t make sense why he would do that!”</p><p>“I know,” Spot reassured.</p><p>Race groaned, facing him now, “If you know everything then why don’t you tell me what I’m doing wrong, or just tell what I’ve done, period!”</p><p>“Where is this coming from?” Spot snapped suddenly.</p><p>“I...” Race trailed off, his argument falling apart right in front of him. He looked down embarrassed. </p><p>“Race I-I know it’s stressful right now,” Spot started carefully, “But you got to push through this.”</p><p>Spot shoved him lightly, “I mean you’re the Racetrack Higgins. Nothing has ever stopped you, right?”</p><p>Race was going to counter but he held his tongue and nodded. Spot did have a point. </p><p>“Sure, maybe you’ve had a few roadblocks in the way but I think the most satisfying point of the strike is going to be when you win this and kick Pulitzer’s ass,” Spot explained, “You can’t give up Racer, you need to win this for us newsies. Not to put pressure on you, that’s the worst thing I could do, but I...”</p><p>Spot continued to explain himself but Spot after he mentioned a brief phrase: that’s...the worst thing I could do. He’s heard that before. Spot has said that to him before. Memories hit Race like a train, but they were coming back blotchy. His mind was trying to figure out the narrative. </p><p>“So basically, what I’m saying is that you got this, and I have faith that you and your Manhattan brothers are going to do great things with this strike,” Spot reassured, “Believe me. You have the courage and a big enough of a heart to finish this strike and show Pulitzer that you mean business.”</p><p>Race smiled, feeling his tears dissolve from his eyes, feeling better by Spot’s sincere words. But his mind was still spinning at the phrase Spot said. ‘That’s the worst thing I could do’ was rattling Race’s brain as his mind started too string a narrative together.</p><p>During this, Race answered Spot’s statement, “Yeah...you're right.”</p><p>Spot scoffed, muttering, “Of course I’m right.”</p><p>Race chuckled, “Oh really?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be the King of Brooklyn if I wasn’t always right,” Spot replied coyly. </p><p>Race stood up tall now, blowing smoke out into the cold yet marvelous city of Manhattan. The city ain’t exactly kind, but it had its good, stunning parts of it that are still marvelous. </p><p>“You’re an ego maniac,” Race spat playfully. </p><p>Spot rolled his eyes, leaning against the banister, “Pretty much.”</p><p>The two laughed, both boys looking at each other gleefully. Their eyes connected, and yet again both boys got lost in them. While Spot got lost in a sea of blue, Race got lost in a world of light brown saucers that where on Spot’s face – they were meant for him and they fit Spot so perfectly.</p><p>Spot walked forward, gently moving up to grab Race’s forearm, gently patting it with his right hand, “Everything is going to be fine.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Race said, smiling back at him, “You’re going to be at our next event, right?”</p><p>“Of course,” Spot explained, “Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>“I just wanted to make sure,” Race stated. Spot gently squeezed Race’s forearm before letting go, moving his hands behind his back, “You going now?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Spot answered, “If I don’t go now, Hotshot will be worried sick. He’s always a worry wart when it comes to me.”</p><p>“He’s your friend, of course he’s going to worry,” Race stated.</p><p>Spot nodded, moving away from Race slowly, “Right. Anyway, uh, I’ll see you around.”</p><p>Race smiled at Spot who was now close to the door, “Bye.”</p><p>“Bye.”</p><p>And with that, Spot left, leaving Race confused and alone on the balcony. He closed his eyes, focusing on the words Spot said. Suddenly, Race remember, that night hitting him like a train.</p><p>‘I can’t,’ Race recalled Spot saying</p><p>Race remember begging, ‘But Spotty please!’</p><p>‘if you remember this conversation,’ Spot had said, ‘meet me next Sunday; where I handed you the corona. And we’ll talk there, alright? If you don’t remember this, then...’</p><p>Suddenly, Race remembered Spot pulling forward and kissing his cheek tenderly. </p><p>Spot...liked him? Race gasped, not knowing how to feel. Well, he felt flattered but he never thought this day would come. All these emotions hit him like a train. And knowing that Spot wanted to kiss him only made Race fluster even more.</p><p>He needed to find Spot, but he couldn’t move. He was still in shock over it all. How did he not notice Spot’s attraction towards him? What made it worse is when he realized what Spot had finished saying...</p><p>‘Night Tony,’ Spot had whispered, ‘Go to sleep. I’ll see you when you wake up.’</p><p>The crack in his voice only made the situation worse. He knew Spot wanted kiss him but Race had drunkenly confessed to him, so he probably thought it was a hoax. Race wanted to slap himself. He once again vowed to never drink again because he always says stupid shit when he does. Race groaned, hitting his head against the banister repeatedly. He jolted up, his heart beating faster. He reminded himself that next Sunday he would meet Spot. But would he be able to wait that long? Was he that patient of a person?</p><p>Race sighed, knowing that staying over in the theater this long would only create two things: Worry for his brothers and paranoia for himself. </p><p>Race left the balcony, knowing the secret that Spot did not say. He started to pinpoint the small little details. The tear stains on his shirt where from Spot! Race has never seen Spot cry before but he knew that it probably was a painful sight to see. Having someone cry for him made Race feel guilty. Never again would he drink the drink that made him like that. Never again!!</p><p> </p><p>Race returned home to Manhattan Lodging, entering the quiet vintage house. He looked around and only noticed Albert, Elmer and Specs over on the couch, talking to themselves. They’re three heads turned to see Race standing there in the foyer. </p><p>“Hey Race,” Albert called out, his voice slight hushed, “Why are you home late?”</p><p>“Took a long way home,” Race lied, “I wanted to take in the Manhattan night.”</p><p>“That’s sweet,” Elmer commented. </p><p>Race shrugged, moving over to the counter top and moving to get onto the bar stool. He leaned his elbows against the counter looking to Albert, Elmer and Specs. </p><p>“So...” Race started, “How would you describe the rally just now?”</p><p>“A big disappointment,” Specs stated, “I was hyped up and ready for our victory but clearly that didn’t happen.”</p><p>“Jack ruined the whole thing,” Albert explained, “Not to blame Jack or anything, but he did barge in a ruin everything.”</p><p>“I think something happened to him,” Elmer theorized. </p><p>“I agree,” Race chimed in, “Speaking of Jackie, have you seen him?”</p><p>The three boys shook their head, simultaneously answering ‘no’ to Race. Race nodded sadly, knowing that this will be another night where Jack wouldn’t show up. </p><p>Race got up from the bar stool, “Well, I’m going to head to bed. I’ll be in the penthouse if you need me. Make sure you don’t stay up too late, alright?”</p><p>Albert rolled his eyes, “Thanks mom.”</p><p>Race chuckled, moving up the stairs to the third floor, leaving Albert, Specs and Elmer alone in the lobby. Race moved to the entrance door to the balcony. He opened the door to get hot with the cold Manhattan air, but he still trudged on, shutting the door behind him. He climbed off the ledge and onto the fire escape which led him to the penthouse. He got onto the rooftop, looking out to the Manhattan skyline before moving towards the back of the rooftop towards the canopy area.</p><p>Race came to a halt suddenly when he heard something rattling. Race moved towards a nearby wall, hiding himself between the person in the canopy. He peaked around to see who it was when something caught his eye. Someone was sitting in Jack’s bed. </p><p>Race walked forward cautiously, “Hello, is someone there?”</p><p>Suddenly the person in the bed, put something down and started to move out of the bed. Race readied himself, putting his fist up, ready to throw a punch to this hooligan. Yet, when the person stood up and showed himself to Race, he moved his fist down; astonished.</p><p>“Jackie?” Race asked, moving forward, “What are you doing here I thought you were—”</p><p>Race was interrupted when Jack walked over, pulling Race by the shoulder and into a hug. Race became still as Jack embraced him in a sad, longing hug. Race swore he heard Jack sniffle. Was he going to cry? Race didn’t know what to do but awkwardly hug back, gently patting his shoulder blade.</p><p>Jack pulled away, holding Race by the shoulders as he looked at him, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”</p><p>Race furrowed his eyebrows, confused, “I-I don’t understand.” </p><p>“I’m sorry I ruined the rally,” Jack apologized pathetically, “I just couldn’t r-risk it...”</p><p>“Risk what, Jackie?” Race asked. Jack sighed, moving away from Race and pacing around the rooftop, “Jack, what did you mean?”</p><p>“Pulitzer threatened me,” Jack explained, sliding down to the ground, his back against the half way barrier, “He threatened you – all of you and I was scared, okay? I didn’t mean to ruin anything; I didn’t mean too but I... I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Race reassured, really knowing that it wasn’t but he held his tongue, “What did he say?”</p><p>“You don’t want to know,” Jack replied wetly. That only made Race’s skin crawl. </p><p>“I can handle it Jack,” Race assured firmly, “Tell me.”</p><p>Jack looked up to Race, whipping a tear away as he started to speak, “He t-threatened throwing you all into the refuge.”</p><p>“No,” Race muttered to himself, “Jackie I—”</p><p>“Syndar was there with ‘em and I panicked. T-That’s why I said vote no. I-I could just see you all in there, in pain, because of m-me. I-I’m so sorry—”</p><p>Jack was full on weeping at this point and Race felt awful. He moved forward and wrapped his arm around Jack’s scrunched body. Jack wept into Race’s shoulder. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell us,” Race asked softly.</p><p>“B-Because I—” Jack started, his voice cutting off by a sharp inhale, “I-I-I didn’t want to scare you.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t be holding all this in,” Race explained as he pulled Jack away, eyes puffy and tired looking, “Jackie, where brothers. We’re here for each other no matter what and you could’ve told us. I get why you didn’t but...we love Jackie, and we aren’t going to push you away. Your family.”</p><p>Jack smiled, whipping away the tears from his eyes, “Thank you, Racer.”</p><p>Race smiled back, helping Jack onto his two feet steadily. </p><p>“You’re a saint, Racer,” Jack stated when he got on his two feet.</p><p>“I wouldn’t say saint, but whatever,” Race replied cockily, “Anyway, other than the tears and Pulitzer. Where did you go after the rally?”</p><p>Jack’s eye widened with brilliance, “Right, I have news.”</p><p>Race nodded as Jack started to explain, “Plumber explained to me that she has a new idea. She’s going to write in the paper about everything.”</p><p>“How are we going to do that if Pulitzer blacklisted the union news?” Race asked. </p><p>“Well, let’s say Katherine has an ace up her sleeve,” Jack claimed, “There’s an old printing press that her father doesn’t know about and—”</p><p>Race stopped Jack immediately, “Father?”</p><p>“Long story, anyway,” Jack excused, “She’s got a couple of guys who can get the printing press to work and when that happens, we can print her words onto the paper, and hand it out to every news district in New York. Pulitzer won’t even know about it until it’s too late.”</p><p>The plan did seem intriguing but Race was still worried, would everyone be okay breaking their back for the union once more? </p><p>“Racer I know you're probably against it, you know after everything I would be in shock if you were for it,” Jack explained, “But please. Maybe this union didn’t work the first or second time, but third times the charm, right? Please Racer, you got to believe me.”</p><p>Race sighed after a pause. He didn’t know how to react to all of this, “Jackie I—”</p><p>“Please Racer,” Jack begged, now standing up and grabbing his hands, squeezing them gently, “You don’t have to do it for me, but do it for Crutchie okay. He would want that.”</p><p>Race thought long and hard about this situation. He was still upset that Jack did abandon them, but Race had to realize that he did too. Jack shouldn’t be having all this weight on his shoulders for no reason. And yet again, Jack was right. All of this was for Crutchie and getting him back, safe in Manhattan was the top priority to Race...well now more so the second priority. Not that he didn’t care about Crutchie but...there was something more important needing to get done in Race’s mind and that was Spot. He needed to find him on Sunday and admit to everything. he needed to get to Spot because then the mystery could be solved, the feelings could unravel. </p><p>“I’m in.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A new world is gunning for you, and Joe, we is too!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello readers! Here I am with another chapter.</p><p>Now, this chapter is a little bit shorter than I wanted it to be, but whatever. I like it, it's fun, my favorite song from the musical is this one, and...yeah! Hope you like it?</p>
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    <p>Third and finally, the plan to print strike news was in motion. Boys had once again set out to inform the districts to send out a pair of hands for helping with caring newspapers or just generally distributing papers. Jack and Katherine had headed out to the location, leaving Race and Davey to head in a little later. Jack had instructed for the boys to come at an exact time so Race can let them in through the upper-level door.</p><p>Speaking of Race and Davey, currently both boys where walking through the dark alleys of Manhattan to the location. Race was walking beside Davey, cigar in his mouth, minding his own business when Davey brought up a vague question: </p><p>“Can I ask you something?” </p><p>Race turned his head to him, nodding, “What’s up?”</p><p>“Well, I need to ask you something about Spot,” Davey simplified. Race’s heart almost leaped out of his chest. His became anxious, his mind starting to spiral downwards at what Davey was going to say! Thankfully, Davey answered before Race full on panicked.</p><p>“Is Spot good with kids?”</p><p>Race was taken aback by the question. Race almost laughed. </p><p>Davey retorted, “I know he’s this big tough guy but is he good with kids?”</p><p>Race wondered long and hard about it. I mean, Spot did have a lot of littles in his Lodging House so it was possible he had to become a family man. Race noted to ask Spot his relationship with his littles one day.</p><p>“Uh, I believe so,” Race guessed, “Why’re you asking me?”</p><p>Davey took a breath before starting his rant, “Well, the other night after the rally Les had run over to Spot, hugging him because he was sad. Unexpectedly, Spot talked back to him and what’s even weirder was that he picked Les up and carried him for a little bit before bringing him over to me,” Davey explained, “Like... he was cradling him, like you would do a frightened child. I-I mean of course Les was pretty upset but I-I don’t know, it just seemed natural to him. And I-I know your friends with him so, I was just curious about Spot and his relationship with children. Okay, I know that sound creepy but I—”</p><p>Race was laughing at this point. Anxious Davey was a funny sight to see. </p><p>“Um,” Race started with a chuckle, “I think Spot is good with kids. I mean, he does have a lot of little kids in Brooklyn, but I don’t know. I’ll ask him for you.”</p><p>“Oh uh...okay,” Davey answered then retorted, “Well, you don’t have to ask him, but I was just curious if you knew about it—"</p><p>“Why’re you so nervous about—”</p><p>Suddenly, Davey interrupted Race when they found their location. Race smirked, even though Davey was a bit shy he was good at getting out of conversations. Race and Davey entered the room through the window. He watched Katherine and Jack for a little bit as Davey and him moved down to the main floor. When they were on the main floor, Davey started talking to Jack about fortifying the plan.</p><p>“You bring enough fellas to keep us covered?” Jack asked Davey.</p><p>Davey nodded, throwing Jack some wide eyes, “We could hold a hoe-down in here and no one would be the wiser.”</p><p>Jack patted Davey’s shoulder, verbally saying good job to Davey. Race had stopped paying attention briefly as he looked around the old house. Race felt, since the strike, confident. Maybe it was because of the crew assembled to help: Davey, Katherine, and all of Brooklyn. Maybe it was because specifically of Brooklyn, or specifically Katherine, or specifically Davey. Race really couldn’t tell. But he was here, alive and being a leader for newsboy’s districts. When he has kids, this is going to be a wicked story to tell. </p><p>Suddenly Katherine revealed something that got Race’s mind out of the clouds, the printing press. It was an interesting contraption and Race couldn’t fathom how they made newspapers. Race couldn’t stop staring at it, marveled by the mechanics of it. </p><p>“Here she is, boys,” Katherine began, “Just think, while my father snores blissfully in his bed, we will be using his very own press to bring him down.”</p><p>Jack smirked, “Remind me to stay on your good side.”</p><p>Race ignored the flirting and instead went to the printing press, touching it delicately, like it was a piece of glass.</p><p>“Is this what they print the papes on?” Race asked, that childlike twinkle in his eyes. Katherine was about to answer but some random guy on the behind the printing press answered for him.</p><p>“I can see why they tossed this old girl down to the cellar, but I think she will do the job,” The guy explained.</p><p>Katherine chuckled, “Jack, this is Darcy. He knows just about everything there is to know about printing.”</p><p>“You work for one of the papes?” Jack asked. </p><p>Darcy stood tall, “My father owns the Trib.”</p><p>Race and Jack shot each other a look.<br/>“Whoa.”</p><p>“And this is Bill,” Katherine continued, “He’ll be typesetting the article for us.”</p><p>Race had no idea what Katherine was talking about but he assumed it was something to do with the newspaper. Sheesh, Race said to himself, putting a newspaper together is hard.</p><p>“Bill?” Jack teased, “So, I supposed you’re the son of William Randolph Hearst?”</p><p>Unexpectedly, Bill answered: “And proud to be a part of your revolution!”</p><p>Jack looked away, smiling coyly, “Ain’t that something?”</p><p>“In the words of the little one,” Katherine intervened, “Can we table the palaver and get down to business?”</p><p>Darcy and Bill nodded in unison, “A little grease and she’ll be good as gold.”</p><p>Bill piped in, “Great! Let’s get to work.”</p><p>The two started to work on getting it up and running, so Davey started to take charge. </p><p>“Alright,” Davey started, “Here’s how it’ll work: as we print the papes, Race, you’ll let the fellas in and they’ll spread them to every working kid in New York.”</p><p>Race nodded, taking the keys that Davey had and heading up to the upper floors. He looked back when he heard Davey continue on.</p><p>“After that...?”</p><p>He saw Jack smile, “After that it’s up to them.”</p><p>Race smiled, moving up to the window and unlocking it. He looked out, feeling hopeful about today. Finally, there was changing coming once and for all. Race laughed to himself, you make the front page, man... your major news. Race, and all of Manhattan was making history today.<br/>Race looked out and noticed the first signs of Manhattan newsies appearing. He looked out to Jack, Davey, and Katherine. </p><p>“Here they come!”</p><p>Boys came through the window, and Race gave each and every single one of them a hug, or a pat on the back. This was big deal, and he had to reassure his brothers that everything would be okay. With that out of the way, he stood by the window as the boys came in. Eventually after all of Manhattan came and started setting up shop, Brooklyn came in. Spot, Hotshot and a couple of other Brooklyn boys came through, making a b-line down to the printing press. Race really didn’t mind: this was a business day, nothing more. But his mind couldn’t help feel his mind ticking. Race knew Spot was a good liar but still. It was like he could compartmentalize all of his emotions. Race couldn’t tell if that was impressive or really sad. </p><p>Either way, Race directed his way to the printing press watching his brothers work. Jack connected with Spot, shaking his spit covered hand. Right then and there, Race knew Jack and Spot meant business. </p><p>The busy night continued on and the printing press was up and working. All the boys knew what this strike was meant for and who it was meant. The best part of this plan was that Pulitzer would be busy counting sheep to know. They had the upper hand. Jack suddenly coined the phrase as he called it out:</p><p>“They’re going to damn well pay!”</p><p>Race and his boys continued to monitor the outside and be busy. The room became intense, and almost arithmetically, all the newsies where chanting the same chorus in their minds:</p><p>Once and for all, if they don’t mind their manners, we’ll bleed ‘em,</p><p>One and for all, we won’t carry no banners that don’t spell freedom.</p><p>The group of boy’s energies became stronger, the anthem beating in each of their hearts in a perfect rhythm. Suddenly, Katherine came forward, reading the paper in his hand, “In the words of union leader Jack Kelly, ‘We will work with you. We will even work for you. But we will be paid and treated as valuable members of your organizations.’” Katherine stated.</p><p>It was powerful; bold. Race smiled looking to his brothers with hope. </p><p>The night continued on, and eventually, papers where staked, tied together, and handed to newsies to pass along. Newsies took positions, throwing the newspapers at each other with the spectral chorus in their minds. </p><p>Once the handmade papers where distributed, Jack and Davey handed newsies their papers to go on and them sell, or hand out for other people to sell. </p><p>Finally, the newsies where standing up and having their voices heard! Once and for all their voices where heard!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! I hope you liked this chapter!</p><p>I haven't talked about this, but I feel we're in need of a celebration for getting over 200 hits! WOW! I never expected this to happen. One day I was relaxing in my room writing fanfiction for fun, and now I'm actually posting and people are liking it. I feel very humble, and thank you all so much for reading, and also the kudos! </p><p>Anywho, enough with the sappiness, hope you liked this chapter, sorry the story is coming to an end soon, but it won't be the last! I have more stories in the works, that I hope you all will like as well! Thank you again for taking time out of your day to read 'A Second Perspective', and..yeah! bye bye :)</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. And the things we do today will be tomorrow’s news!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello, I'm back with another chapter!!</p><p>I hope you like this one; this chapter takes place after 'Once and For All' (i'm trying to do this timeline off of the musical), so during Pulitzer's office - that scene. And yeah! Hope you like it :)</p>
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    <p>The strike newspaper was written and sold; the whole city of New York went nuts. People were astonished by the treatment of the newsies and how a successful man could hurt a group of kids without even batting an eyelash. The strike news became so good that every single newsie who got to sell strike news got triple the amount of money they would usually get from selling, and Katherine’s prediction was correct. People didn’t buy their papers after, sending a big message to Pulitzer. It was magnificent. </p><p>Pulitzer hadn’t said a word, so Jack and Davey decided to go meet with him in person. But, as Jack and Davey where figuring out the plan, they quickly realized that they needed someone else too fortify and also intimidate the hell out of Pulitzer. Who did Jack and Davey know that would make Pulitzer shiver with fear by just a single glance? Jack and Davey both agreed who that person could be.</p><p>The morning after, Davey, Jack, and Spot had arrived at Pulitzer’s office, barging through the front desk like they owned the place. Having a great reputation gave you some perks, Spot explained to himself. Jack barged into Pulitzer’s office, making way for Davey and Spot to walk behind him – a union posy, how brilliant.</p><p>One man tried holding the three back, “You can’t just barge in!”</p><p>Jack held out the strike newspaper, slamming it down on Pulitzer’s desk with a burning passion, “How we doing this morning, gents?”</p><p>Pulitzer growled, “You’re behind this? We had a deal!”</p><p>Jack threw the money at Pulitzer, it flipping and landing perfectly on the desk, “And it came with a money-back guarantee,” Jack noted, “And thanks for your lesson on the power of the press.”</p><p>The guy who tried to shoo Jack and his gang away grabbed the paper and started to read it. He looked up to Pulitzer, “Did you read this boss? These kids put out a pretty good paper. Very convincing.”</p><p>Spot didn’t really like that he was being referred to as a kid, but he couldn’t fuss about it.</p><p>Pulitzer grumbled, “No doubt written by my daughter.”</p><p>Spot’s mind spiraled...daughter? Wait a minute. Katherine wrote the article, so would that make Pulitzer Katherine’s daughter? Spot kept a poker face, but he was trying to figure out this interesting plot twist.</p><p>“I’d sign her before someone else grabs her up,” Jack teased, getting Pulitzer angry.</p><p>“I demand to know who defied my ban on printing strike material!” Pulitzer shouted; his face read as a tomato.</p><p>Jack scoffed, teasing, “We’re your loyal employers.”</p><p>“We’d never take our business elsewhere,” Spot added, sarcasm rolling off his tongue effortlessly.</p><p>The guy looked to Pulitzer, “The old printing press in the cellar.”</p><p>Took ‘em long enough, Spot cackled to himself.</p><p>Pulitzer got close to Jack in a threatening manner, “I made you an offer of a life-time. Anyone who does not act in his own self-interest is a fool!”</p><p>“What’s that make you?” Davey asked, silencing the room, “This all began because you wanted to sell more papers. But now your circulation is down seventy percent.”</p><p>Spot folded his arms as Davey paused, trying to think of what to add, “Why didn’t you just come talk to us?”</p><p>Jack answered Davey smugly, “Guys like Joe don’t talk with nothing like us.”</p><p>Spot and Davey moved forward as Jack continued, facing Pulitzer. The two were close to the window and Davey and Spot finished up the line by squishing the two in the middle.</p><p>“But a very wise reporter told me a real boss don’t need the answers. Just the smarts to snatch the right one when he hears it.”</p><p>Spot hummed; Katherine would make a good leader.</p><p>Suddenly, the guys attention turned to the window where they saw the abundance of newsies, holding signs with different sayings on it – but the message was clear. They were protesting. The best part about it, is that no police man or upperclassmen where going to stop them now. It was bold, and the three newsies looking down felt immense pride.</p><p>Spot removed his hat out of respect, making a bold move of planting a hand firmly on Davey’s back, “Have a look out there, Mr. Pulitzer. In case you haven’t figured it out, we got you surrounded.”</p><p>“New York is closed for business. Paralyzed. You can’t get a paper or a shoe shine. You can’t send a message or ride an elevator or cross the Brooklyn Bridge,” Jack added. He then hushed his voice, looking to Pulitzer with that threatening stare, “...you can’t even leave your own building. So, what’s your next move?”</p><p>Suddenly, another man spoke up, “Mr. Pulitzer, the Mayor is here along with your daughter and... oh you’re not going to believe who else.”</p><p>Emerging from the door came the Mayor, Katherine, Medda and... Governor Roosevelt! Spot was speechless. This strike all started with just one group of newsboys speaking up for their beliefs and to defend them was the fucking Governor Roosevelt himself!</p><p>Pulitzer and the group started to talk, going back and forth and Spot swore he heard Pulitzer voice crack at one point. But either way, Spot and Davey watched in awe at the group they were with. Both knew they were a part of a historical moment.</p><p>“Thanks to Miss Medda Larkin bringing your daughter to my office,” Roosevelt continued, “I already have a thorough grasp of the situation- graphic illustrations included. Bully is the expression I usually employ to show approval. But in your case, I simply mean bully!”</p><p>Pulitzer was trembling with anger. </p><p>Roosevelt turned to Katherine, smiling, “Is this the boy of whom you spoke?”</p><p>Continuing from there, Spot watched as Pulitzer’s whole world crumbled around him. It was mesmerizing and overall satisfying to watch. The governor had shamed him, along with the mayor as well. Who knew that those old folks had great comebacks? </p><p>Roosevelt then looked to Pulitzer confidently, “Well, Joe, don’t just stand there letting those children sing endlessly. Give them the good news.”<br/>“What good news?” Pulitzer asked, his tone reluctant and bitter.<br/>“That you’ve come to your senses and rolled back your prices. Unless, of course, you want to invite a full state senate investigation into your employment practices,” Roosevelt threatened. </p><p>Spot and Davey exchanged smug, devilish glances. </p><p>“You wouldn’t—”</p><p>“After the pressure you wielded to keep me from office? I’d do it with a smile. Come along, Joseph. There’s only one thing worse than a hard heart, and that’s a soft head,” Roosevelt finished. Pulitzer was practically on fire at this point but did Roosevelt give a damn? No. </p><p>“And think of the happiness you’ll bring those children,” Roosevelt continued on. He then turned to the female in the corner, with her ginger hair pulled up neatly, “He doesn’t do happiness, does he?”</p><p>The female replied, shaking her head anxiously, “No sir.”</p><p>Pulitzer scoffed, “Mr. Kelly, if I may speak to you...alone.”</p><p>With that, everyone left the office and the ones who worked for Pulitzer left Pulitzer’s office lobby, leaving Spot and Davey alone. It was quiet for a while, both of the newsboys in shock about what had just occurred. Davey turned to Spot with a smile, gasping.</p><p>“Are we going—”</p><p>“I think we are,” Spot finished. He smirked, feeling triumphant. But the excitement only grew as Davey’s energy poured out. Spot let out a gasp, “Holy shit! You fucking did it.”</p><p>Davey smiled, “Y-Yeah...I—” Davey retorted, “We did it!!”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, boys arrived to the distribution center, and more and more people came to the square. When the Brooklyn and Manhattan newsboys arrived at the distribution center, they were unknown to the reason, but they knew that Jack wanted them to meet them around noon. Race stood beside Albert, flexing and un-flexing his hand as he gripped the sign in his hand. </p><p>The newsies where chipper, and all of them roared with applause when Jack, Pulitzer and the Governor himself where at a platform! Spot and Davey joined the other newsies, looking up to Jack with their full attention.</p><p>Jack smiled big, “Newsies of New York!” He announced, trying to hold back his excitement as much as he could. But he suddenly combusted, “We WON!”</p><p>Out of pure excitement, all the boys turned to their closet neighbor, and giving them a victory hug. The boys where cheering, the face’s plastered with a big fat smile. The distribution hall was filled with delighted, victory filled boys. All the newsboys have never felt so excited in their lives. All their boy’s hearts filled with the rhythmic beat of victory!</p><p>The Newsies had done it!</p><p>“And now I’d like to introduce my own personal pal, Governor Theodore Roosevelt himself,” Jack answered and the boys cheered louder and louder. The governor talked about being at the height of the power. Race had this gleaming smile that you could see from the stars, at least that’s what Spot noticed. But it only became brighter when a certain newsie came back. Spot watched as a newsie that had a crutch on him, walk up and Race beamed. </p><p>“Hey look, Jack! It’s Crutchie!”</p><p>Spot watched as the Manhattan newsies huddled towards this newsie who looked beaten to the brim. Spot walked backwards, moving more into a shadow area so he could watch the scene with being noticed. A man came out with this Crutchie guy and this same guy handcuffed this man and kicking him with his crutch.</p><p>After more commotion, Jack ended up coming down to be with his boys. Spot watched from his secluded area how happy everyone looked. He had done the right thing. Maybe sticking to your gut was a good thing, Spot pondered to himself. He leaned against a banister, watching the crowd, mainly keeping an eye of Race specifically. The governor had said something to Jack, and he smiled nervously, replying:</p><p>“Don’t sweat it, Gov,” Jack started, “With the strike settled, I probably should be hitting the road.”</p><p>Spot frowned, hating how Jack said that. Couldn’t he think before he spoke. Everyone looked disappointed; bitter at Jack reply and Spot really couldn’t blame him. I mean, Jack did contradict their whole union, abandon them for days, that poor Crutchie kid was beaten up for this union, and now he says he’s going to hit the road. Spot will never understand that guy.</p><p>Davey stepped in, rolling his eyes, “Don’t you ever get tired of singing that same old tune?” Davey asked, “What’s Santa Fe got that New York ain’t? Tarantulas?”</p><p>Spot didn’t know what he meant, but he assumed it was some joke. The boys chuckled, slowly tearing away from the scene to get their papers. Spot walked farther away, now barely noticeable for the human eye. He watched from a distance as Race got his papers, walking by him and to a little spot with one of his friends, reading the paper. Jack, Davey, Crutchie and Katherine all moved forward, talking to themselves as the newsies collected they're papes.</p><p>Speaking of papes, Spot better hit the road himself. Even though it was a Sunday afternoon, being a newsie didn’t mean you had a break. Spot glanced at the scene one last time before leaving the distribution center, taking a small moment to stare at Race. If Race remembered he would find him soon. If the universe wanted them to be together that bad, Race would remember and meet him by 9th and 10th. Spot turned around, tugging his hat one last time as he left the scene, hands in his pocket, praying that something good would happen to him, for once in his life.</p><p> </p><p>Race remembered the next few moments in a blur. He remembered getting his paper and talking with Albert, and even Jack catching a kiss from Katherine. It was a magical moment. But as the day was finished and selling was about to begin, Race recalled something. He felt that he was missing something all day, and finally it hit him. It was Sunday. Spot had instructed to meet him if he remembered. Race looked around for Spot, upset when he didn’t see him at the distribution center.</p><p>As he left the building, Albert patted his arm, “Hey, do you want to sell in Manhattan with me today?”</p><p>Race smiled, “I would love too, but I have somewhere to be.”</p><p>Albert grew a curious smile, “Oh? Is someone expecting you?”</p><p>“No, I’m talking about Brooklyn,” Race lied, “Sheepshead’s calling me. I can’t not go to her.”</p><p>“Whatever Race,” Albert said, nudging him in the shoulder before running off, “See you around.”</p><p>Race waved at Albert as he walked away. Once the coast was clear of any Manhattan newsies, he darted away into the alleys, running as he scanned the signs. This was his chance for his dreams to become reality. He would run as long as he could until he found Spot and told him. </p><p>This was his moment and he wasn’t going to ruin it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello again,</p><p>Wow! We're almost done! I must remind you to not be upset, because I have a story in the works. I will explain after the next chapter, because I want to refine a couple details. Anyway, expect something good soon (sprace related) from me, and yeah! Hope your day (or night) is good :)</p><p>Thank you for reading :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. But they don’t much matter if you ain’t with me.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello Friends!!</p><p>This is the final chapter. But as I have said, do not fret! After you read, they'll be more information. </p><p>Also can I just say, thank you for getting this story to 300 hits! 300!! Thank you so so SO much!! Your hits, kudos, and comments only inspire me to write more. You guys are all so sweet and kind. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read and thank you sooooooo much. It means so much to me &lt;3 </p><p>Anyway, go on and read!! Hope you all have a fantastic day!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Race’s sprinted quickly, glancing at the signs at the streets. He looked around frantically, feeling hopeless while the time was ticking by. Spot was going to be gone before Race could tell him, or even get to do something that he dreamed about. </p><p>He quickly searched the grounds of Manhattan and when he finally came to his destination, he looked around everywhere for Spot. He felt helpless. Spot was only going to see Race as romantic that one time he was drunk. He will only have that one kiss on the cheek, but Race knew there was more to this narrative than being kissed on the cheek. He needed Spot to know!</p><p>Then...there was the light in the shadowy darkness. the gleaming glow of Spot; his King of Brooklyn. Time was frozen for Race as he stared at Spot, walking away from the alley. Race swallowed hard, feeling his heart beat quicker. This was it; this was the moment. </p><p>“Spot!” </p><p>The man himself turned to his head, eyes connected with Race. That's when Race knew, his heart beating as if it was the signal of a race, just like the horses at sheepshead. This was it. </p><p>Then...</p><p>Race ran. He darted to Spot like there was nothing holding him back anymore. No more fear, no more worry or concern. In order for his fairytale to continue on he needed Spot to know. Spot turned around and saw Race darted at him, and all he did was smile. That smile made Race run faster and eventually, when he was close enough to Spot, he...he...</p><p>He kissed him...and Spot kissed back. </p><p>Time melted away for the two. It was slow as the two shared this moment together; their first kiss. It was passionate, loving, happy. Their reality became a fairytale right before their very own eyes. The moment was tender and romantic, something that the both will remember for the rest of their days. It was a desperate, longing kiss that was perfect together. </p><p>Race and Spot where perfect together. Just like that kiss.</p><p>The kiss lasted for a while before Race pulled away slowly. He looked deeply to Spot’s eyes, a nice hint of pink appearing on his cheeks. As for Spot, he had a nice hue of red covering his face, the color matching his shirt to a tee. The two chuckled nervously, also immediately noticed their stance. Race’s hands on Spot’s forearms; Spot’s hands on his hips loosely. It felt natural. Calm.</p><p>Race averted his gaze, a small grin appearing on his face, “W-Was that...um, okay? I’ve never kissed someone before, so—”</p><p>“It was perfect,” Spot replied, sweetness dripping off of him like syrup. He whispered: “Very dramatic, but I liked that.”</p><p>Spot paused, taking a deep breath, his red cheeks slowly disintegrating of that color, “I-I’m glad you remembered.”</p><p>“I am too,” Race added, “If I didn’t remember what you said I... I-I don’t know how I would b-be...um—”</p><p>“Kissing me?” Spot answered, making eye contact with Race, “I would be alone right now. Thank goodness you remembered, right?”</p><p>Race nodded, his smile going away into a more serious face, “I like you, Spot.”</p><p>“I like you too,” Spot replied almost instantly. He continued to look deeply into Race's light blue eyes. Spot blinked, pulling himself away from the trance of those big blue saucers that made Spot fantasize. Spot let out a happy gasp, swallowing hard as he started to speak, “Damn, it feels good to say that.”</p><p>“I agree,” Race said, his eyes now focusing on Spot’s lips. They looked in need of more. Race and Spot felt time suddenly increase, the two connecting passionately. There hands moved, Spot's to Race's waist and Race's to Spot's cheeks. This time, the kiss was rough and passionate, something that Race wanted more of. Race and Spot began to move, pushing themselves against the alley way wall, hard and rough. Spot was pushed back against the wall, his back hitting the brick hard as Race and Spot kissed strongly for the first time, there heads moving to get more of each other. </p><p>Their fairytale was complete. The two soon realized that this was the beginning of a beautiful, loving relationship between a King of a massive borough and simple neighborhood Prince of that big borough. A new chapter was going to begin for these two and where they ready for that whirl wind? 100%. Nothing was going to stop them. </p><p>Nothing mattered anymore other than this moment together: Spot and Race; kissing each other for the first, but not last, time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello readers! </p><p>Oh my goodness!! The story is complete! Woop Woop!</p><p>Continuing on what I said at the top, I have an another story in the works! </p><p>The next story that will be coming out in this series is called Relationship 101! (may change the name. But, that's the name for now). This is the sequel for 'A Second Perspective,' and I think it's really cute and fluffy - and angsty at some parts. That is all I'm going to say, because I don't want to send out spoilers. I will post the sequel soon, but I thought I might as well let the news out! This TapDancin'Idiot isn't going anywhere!!</p><p>Anyway, thank you so much for reading this story! Your kudos and comments have been much appreciated. Hope you all have a wonderful day (evening or afternoon)! See you soon!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So...what'd you think?</p><p> I hope it was good, and I may post the second chapter if you want. Hope you all have a great day, and I hope you enjoyed reading :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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